In Love with America's Most Wanted
by YahtzeeBitch
Summary: She never really fit in, not really anyways. But when she met him, she felt like she belonged somewhere. It didn't matter that he was years older, that he wasn't around all the time, that he was on the top of the FBI's most wanted list. He was perfect to her. Dean/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi all! I've decided to put this story up while continuing my other story as well. This one is a series of one-shots between Dean and my own OC. I'm thinking there will be ten chapters, give or take one or two. Please feel free to review/comment, they all mean a lot! Hope you like it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural**

**Song: Travelin' Soldier-Dixie Chicks**

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_Chapter One: Outcasts_

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Stillwater, Montana.

A small town set on a big piece of land. Mostly home to trees, elk, and bison. The population of the town numbers out to around nine hundred people. All the homes spread out of long stretches of roads, most of which are in need of repair. There's the main part of town, which is where the plaza is located, different shops of all kinds set up around an open wood-board floored area to attract the tourists who wander over from Yellowstone National Park. Most everyone lives between ten to twenty minutes from there, although some families live even further.

It's simple to tell apart those who are residents to those who are just passing through. There isn't anything glaringly different about the residents of the town, per say, just an air about them. They're proud of their small town, and everybody knows everybody.

That doesn't mean that everybody gets along with everybody though. It's not the perfect 'American small town'. Some families hold grudges against others, the women have their natural gossip, and kids get bullied at school.

It's easy to gossip in a town in which there is only one main supermarket. Only one main church too. Seemingly cut off from the rest of the country due to their geographical location, the women spread news (both true and false) like the wildfires that threaten their homes in the summer months.

The Bradshaws call this small town home though. Have been for the last thirty years.

Leroy Jepson Bradshaw, the head of the family and married to Abigail Donner for the past twenty-three years. He's a well known, well respected face around town; always offering a helping hand or a kind word. He raises his children under a tight belt, making sure they know right from wrong.

His six-foot broad frame makes his presence known in a room. Black hair, graying on the ends, is kept cut short. A humble and easy going man, he runs the General Store in town, selling miscellaneous objects, ranging from simple groceries, to diapers, to batteries, to gun powder.

Abigail runs the books for the store, keeping on top of finances and taxes. Calculating product and revenue, managing sales and helping decide which items are no longer in demand.

Together they've spent their lives providing for their three children.

Derek is the eldest of the three. Twenty-two years old, he gets his looks from his father. Tall, dark haired, and as charismatic as John F. Kennedy, Derek Bradshaw has had a fascination with planes since before he could even walk. He was a popular kid in school, playing safety on the high school football team, as well as being elected his class's vice principal. When it was time for college, the Air Force Academy was the only place he wanted to go. Three years later, and he's as happy as can be. His one downside; his short temper and overly colorful language.

The middle child, Jackie, is only three years younger than Derek. The pretty child in the family, she stands only five foot six. Long wavy blonde hair genetically inherited from her mother, green eyes from her father. Jackie focuses more on her studies than she does the boys asking her out on dates. Not that she needs to put in so much focus; she gets straight A's without much effort. At nineteen years old and a senior in high school, she was committed to attend Montana State University next fall.

Finally, Marah, the baby of the family, the child who wasn't planned for. Her parents love her still, just as much as they do Derek and Jackie, she was just a surprise. A mix of both her siblings before her, though completely different in almost every way. Long auburn hair falls in waves, light hazel eyes always calculating what's around her. From the outside, she looks like a shy, quiet, polite girl at only seventeen years old. Manners drilled into her from day one, she's just starting to become her own person, questioning what her parents tell her, she never swears at them, or disrespected them. However, once she's with just her friends, she let's herself, her true self, be seen. She has a temper, a mouth like a sailor (her language even rivaling Derek's), and a 'take-no-shit' attitude. She has friends at school, though only a select few are close to her, those who don't talk to her regularly just think she's quiet and shy. They don't hear the opinion she has on everything.

Right now, the youngest of the Bradshaws stands behind the counter of Stillwater's local café. Unlike most businesses in town, Angela's Café is open Sunday mornings, albeit empty right now, given the ten o'clock Church service is in session. Marah tugs once at the apron she's required to have on, hating the white piece of fabric with a passion, while she wipes down countertop at the front bar.

The café is mostly empty for now, the only employees inside besides Marah herself being Betsy, a single mother who's lived in town for only the past few years, Marah thinks she must be in her mid-thirties, and Evelyn, a red-head who's a year older than Marah. They see each other often, go to the same high school, but never really talk outside of the café. The café's cook, Danny, sits atop the counter in the kitchen, his legs swinging back and forth, waiting for the orders to start coming in.

There are only a few patrons already present.

Old man Prichett sits in his usual booth by the window, watching the tourists walk down the sidewalk as he sips at his coffee (always ordered black, then he later asks for two sugar packets). He's laid out the newspaper in front of himself on the table, though his eyesight has been fading, and Marah knows he can't read a single word on the thing.

Hally Burns, or Hal as she tells everyone to call her by, sits in her usual seat as well, her weathered hands struggling to hold the menu steady. The seventy-year-old woman has lived in Stillwater all her life, meeting her husband here, who is now buried in the town cemetery after a heart attack two summers ago struck him suddenly.

Finally, the Ingrid twins. One of the few families in Stillwater who doesn't attend Sunday service, so the boys always show up in the mornings to grab some breakfast and study for whatever assignments they've put off completing all weekend. Jake and Nate Ingrid are only sophomores at the high school, but with their older sister having gone off to Princeton last fall; they've got a lot of pressure on them.

Everyone else in town is in Church, including the rest of Marah's family. She knew she'd be working this morning, so she had been told to attend Saturday night service. She'd protested for a good fifteen minutes, but had listened to her parents in the end, dragging her feet out the front door.

She looks up as the front door of the café opens, the bell jingling, sounding the entrance of the newest customer. Marah glances around, seeing both Betsy and Evelyn in the back talking to Danny about something or other. She lets a breath out through her nose, turning and tossing the rag into the sink before wiping her hands on the apron she wears.

She walks towards the café's newest visitor, who's listened to the sign at the front of the building and helped himself to an open booth. She can tell he's younger just by his side profile as she makes her way over, his blonde hair standing out in the sunlight that filters in through the windows. His hands are clasped together on top of the linoleum table, his jaw set. He wears a leather jacket and dark jeans, she doesn't recognize him, so he's not from around town.

"Good morning." Her voice is quiet, though polite, and it catches his attention. He looks up at her, and she immediately thinks of how pretty he is. Not pretty in the delicate sense of the word, but rough.

He has defined features, a strong jaw line, tan skin, blonde hair that's styled up in the front, and piercing green eyes. She also thinks, he looks as though something's bothering him, she can tell by the way he looks at her, but doesn't fully _look_ at her. "Can I get you anything?" she offers, and he's struck with how sincere her words are, not sounding like she's saying them just because she's his waitress.

"Uh, coffee, black." His voice is gruff, more so than she expected, but she just smiles back at him.

"Sure thing." He nods his thanks, watching her turn and walk back to the kitchen area, before taking a deep breath and glancing out the window.

He closes his eyes briefly, taking another deep breathe, and can hear his father and younger brother shouting at each other again. He wonders, fleetingly, if Sammy had stormed out yet.

It had started over that damn college crap Sam was so obsessed with lately. Bringing it up once again, telling his dad now that he had applied to Stanford, of all places. Of course, John had gone off on how Sam couldn't go, John wouldn't _let _him go.

Dean understood where Sam was coming from. The kid wanted a normal life; they had grown up in motel rooms, eating greasy diner food and gas station hot dogs all their lives. Sam wasn't like Dean, wasn't as loyal to their father. That part, Dean couldn't wrap his head around. He didn't-

His thoughts are stopped when a cup of black coffee appears in front of him, he looks up again, seeing the same young girl standing there, a soft smile on her face. "Thank you." Dean tells her.

"Do you need anything else?" She asks, and Dean thinks for a moment. He almost says no, that he's all set. His lips purse together, and her gaze darts down to them for a moment before going back to his face.

"Do you mind sitting down for awhile?" Dean asks her, "I just'd like to talk to someone." Her eyebrows come together, lips pursing together, and it's then that Dean notices just how young she is. She can't be older than seventeen. "If, if you can't, then," He realizes how it's weird for a twenty-two year old to ask a seventeen year old if he can just talk to her.

"No!" she cuts him off quickly, then stammers as his blonde eyebrows rise at her, "T-that'd be fine, it's just, give me a moment, I know somewhere else we could go." Her brown eyes are shining, and Dean smiles at her. "I'll be right back." She promises him, before turning and walking quickly back to where he assumes the kitchen to be.

"I'm taking my break!" Marah calls out to the other three as she unties her apron, tossing it on a nearby chair.

"What!" Betsy barks at her, "The rush will be here in twenty minutes Marah!"

"I'm sure you can handle it, I'll be back, promise!" She's out of the kitchen before they can say anything more.

She sees the man waiting for her, and smiles when his eyes find hers. "Okay," she tells him, he stands up, pulling his leather jacket on closer to his body. It isn't until she's right next to him that Marah notices how tall he is. She only comes up to his shoulders.

She leads them out, the bell ringing and Hal's eyes watching. Dean's footfalls are heavy and loud against the concrete sidewalk, due to the military boots that dawn his feet. Marah's footfalls are light, and she takes almost two steps for each of his one. "So," She starts, and his green eyes look down at her, "What's your name again?" she phrases it as if he's told her already.

"Dean," he says, his voice gruff, and he stops when she puts a hand on his arm.

"We're crossing here," She tells him, nodding towards the street, "and I'm Marah." Dean just nods, and then proceeds to follow her across the street, and down the side of another road. Five minutes later, they come to an open area overlooking one of the rivers. "I like coming here sometimes," she tells Dean, feeling as though she should say something as she sits down in front of the bench, leaning back against it, Dean follows suit.

"It's nice." He agrees, looking out over the water. He's silent for a moment, and she doesn't say anything either. After another beat of silence, she speaks up.

"What's bothering you?" she asks him, and when Dean looks down at her, she looks away, heat rushing up her neck.

"It's my dad, and brother. They uh, don't get along too well." He's awkward with sharing, but it feels better talking about it.

She nods for him to continue.

"Yeah. Ya see, Sam, he's my brother, he wants to go to college real bad. Our Dad keeps telling him no."

"Why?"

"He'd be safer if he stayed with us. Our dad's real protective over us both, me over Sam too. We grew up, travelin' on the road a lot due to our dad's job. I get Sam wants to settle down somewhere, be a normal kid. It's just…" he trails off.

"You're dad wants him close so he can watch out for him." Marah says, and Dean makes a noise of agreement. "Well, it sounds like something that your dad and brother should figure out themselves." Dean looks at her eyes narrowed, "But I get why your in it too, though, I think you should trust Sam."

"I already trust'em."

"Then you should know he can look out for himself." For the next twenty minutes, Dean tells Marah (sparing the exact, gruesome, bloody details) most of what's going on between his dad and Sam. She listens intently, nodding along and offering her own opinion once and a while. She learns how they grew up on the road, motel to motel, and when she asks what they do for a living, he simply tells her:

"We save people."

And she accepts that. The more they talk, the more comfortable they grow with one another. She grows less awkward, he relaxes more.

"You know Dean," she tells him, "When I was eight, my teacher asked all of us what we wanted for Christmas. And I said my Pop-Pop, my grandfather, because he had died that year, and I missed him. I didn't get him back for Christmas, since you can't bring the dead back to life. But I learned that you should enjoy every moment you have with a person, since you don't know when they'll be gone. You should try to make them happy. If going to college will make Sam happy, then I'd let him go." Dean nods thoughtfully, and then pulls out his cell phone as it starts ringing.

"It's my Dad," he tells her, "I have to get back."

"Okay." Marah pushes herself off the ground, brushing the dirt off her jeans before offering a hand to Dean to help him up.

"I think I'm supposed to help you up." He tells her, as she helps him get off the ground.

"You were slow." She smirks up at him as he shakes his head, running a hand through his blonde hair.

"I bet you have a boyfriend or something, and I know I'm a bit older than you and I don't really give a rat's ass. So, could I call you sometimes? Or text, just to have someone to talk to besides my dad and Sam." In response, she holds out her hand for his phone, Dean gives it to her, watching as she programs her number into the device; after she gives it back, she hesitates. She's not one for hugs, always being the one who stands stock still if a random person gives her one, but if any situation ever called for one, Marah thinks this would be it. She wraps her arms around Dean, not successfully, only managing around his sides, and her ear rests against his sternum for a few moments.

He stands still for a moment, not really comfortable, before wrapping his arms around her as well. "You could write a letter." She jokes to him.

"You just watch for pigeons flying to your window."

That night, while Marah sits across from Jackie at the dinner table, she sends glances to her phone all throughout the meal. It sits a few feet away, on the coffee table in front of the couch. No cell phones allowed at the dinner table. Ever.

"You waiting to hear from someone?" Her mother asks. Abigail's hair is still pulled back since she put it that morning for church.

"Taylor's supposed to tell me what the algebra homework was." Marah lies, feeling like telling her parents that she's waiting to hear from a twenty-two year old guy she had an hour conversation with this morning.

"You didn't write it down in class?" her father asks from his spot on her left.

"I forgot." Marah says, looking down at the peas on her plate.

"You should've written it down." Her mom stresses.

"Can't I forgot some things?!" her voice rises, and a look from her father makes her shut her mouth. "Sorry."

A second later, she hears the sound of her phone vibrate on the table. "May I be excused?" she asks in a hurry, eyes pleading.

"Yes." Her father tells her, and Marah is out of her seat in a second, rinsing off her plate and placing it in the sink before rushing over. She grabs her phone and takes the stairs two at a time up to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

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**Please tell me what you think! I love reviews and all feedback is greatly appreciated. This chapter is based in 1999, about a year before Sam goes to Stanford.**

**Thanks for reading! Until next time!**


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two: Winchester_

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**Song: The Times They Are A Changing-Bob Dylan**

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Three months later, and their conversations were still frequent.

Marah looked forward to Dean's texts, even more so to his phone calls. There wasn't a set schedule to when they'd talk, it revolved around when Dean had the time. She was fine with that, each word was a pleasant surprise for her.

They talked about everything. He'd tell her about Sam, about his dad, where in the country they were at the time, the people they met. She'd tell him about her family, about school, about her friends. She sent him pictures, so he could put a face with a name.

Her family noticed the difference in her. How she stayed up later, how she left the room more often to go talk on the phone, how, after those secret phone calls, the smile didn't seem to ever waver from her face. But if they asked who she was talking to, she'd say one of her friends from school, rambling off some excuse of not writing down her homework again.

The only one who knew she kept in contact with Dean was Evelyn. Marah had been cornered after she'd returned to work that day she met Dean.

"Who was that?!" the older girl had asked, "and don't say you don't know, I saw you leave with him." So Marah had told her, not Dean's story, just that he was a guy who needed someone to talk to.

Evelyn knew they were still talking, and would even ask how he was once and a while.

"Just don't go falling in love with a stranger." She'd tease.

But he wasn't a stranger, he didn't feel like one to Marah. She trusted him, cared about him, even though they'd only met once. Either there was just something about him, or she was just plain stupid.

Marah's eyes opened suddenly now, mind recognizing the loud ringtone as her hand flailed a moment later. Her phone was ringing on her nightstand, the screen illuminated.

She groaned, rubbing her eyes with a fist as she managed to get a hand on the device, looking down at the front screen.

'Dean' the name starred back at her and she flipped her phone open.

"Hey." She said mumbled, her voice still sounding asleep, and slightly pissed off.

"_Shit! Did I wake you up? I'm sorry, I didn't-" _

"Dean." She cuts him off, laughing slightly, "It's fine."

"_No, no, go back to sleep, I just-"_

"Dean." She cuts him off again, saying his name firmly this time, trying to sound more awake as she lay down on her side, keeping her phone pressed to her ear. "I want to talk to you." She tells him.

"_You sure?"_

"'Course I'm sure." She smiles, though he can't see.

"_Okay._" His now familiar gruff voice relents, _"I'm gunna feel bad though._"

"Don't. What's up with you?"

"_Not much. My dad just went out on his own to work a job, so it's just Sammy and I." _She wonders again, not for the first time, what exactly these 'jobs' are. She doesn't ask though, knowing there must be a reason Dean doesn't tell her.

"Sam's there?" she asks, Dean usually calls when he's alone.

"_Yeah._"

"Who's he think your talkin' to?" she asks.

"_He's asleep." _

"Ahh. That explains it."

"_I do have a reason for calling" _he says, _"besides being able to hear the sound of your voice." _She blushes in the darkness, _"You're blushing." _He states smugly, and she barks out a laugh.

"You can't see me!"

"_But I know you are._"

"Asshole." She rolls her eyes.

"_Come on, I think you'll like what I have to say._"

"You sure about that?" she questions.

"_Pretty sure, like who wouldn't want to see my pretty face?" _his tone is teasing, so it takes a moment for her to process.

"What!?" She exclaims, sitting up in her bed and then clamping a hand over her own mouth. "What!?" she whispers again, though she's sure Dean doesn't hear over his own laughter.

"_You heard me, my dad said we'll be heading to Washington once he finishes up his gig. Means we're headed straight by ya." _

"How long can you stay?" she asks hopefully, "When will you be here? Where-"

"_Whoa." _Dean stops her ramblings, "_It'll just be overnight, and I think next Friday if everything goes smooth. And we'll be stayin' in a motel in town-"_

"Gits?"

"_I don't freakin' know, probably. I'll tell you when I know." _

"Good." She tells him, "I miss you." The words are out of her mouth before she thinks them over, "I, I mean it'll be nice, different to-"

"_Marah," _Dean says gently. She face palms herself, heat rising on the back of her neck. "_I miss you too." _His words surprise her, "_Stop blushing._"

"Shut. Up. Dean." He laughs at her expense again, running a hand through his blonde hair.

"_Just saying." _There's a pause, neither of them saying anything. _"How was that, uh, dance thing?" _she chuckles at his awkwardness in bringing up the subject. She had told him about it a few weeks ago when they talked on the phone.

It had been the school's winter semi-formal. And somehow, she ended up telling Dean about it. "It was fun, Cole's parents were outta town that night so we all went here after."

"_Get drunk?" _

"Obviously."

"_You go with anyone?" _

"Tyrell Migalow." She tells him, feeling awkward talking to Dean about it, "My boyfriend."

"_Right. He was good to you?" _

"Yes, Dean. We had a good time."

"_You don't take any shit from him, got it? I'll kick his ass." _

"Sure you would." She rolls her eyes.

"_I'm not kidding._"

"I know." She assures him, noticing his voice growing harder. "I can take care of myself Dean."

"_I know."_ He repeats her words back. "_Just gotta put the offer out there._"

"You offered to beat up my boyfriend."

"_Exactly."_

"I think that's unnecessary."

"_For now."_

"You sound like Derek, I hope you know that."

"_How would I? I've never met'im_."

"Well now you do." Marah, stifles a yawn.

"_You should get back to sleep._" Dean tells her, hearing the yawn on the other end.

"No, I wanna keep talkin'."

"_I can text you in the morning._" He tells her.

"Not the same as talking."

"_I know, it's the best I got right now though._"

"Dean it's fine. I just like hearing your voice."

"_Same here_." Her eyebrows draw together, her eyelids growing heavy again, her mind being lulled by the gruffness of his voice. _"Your voice, I like hearing yours. Mine too actually, it's pretty damn sexy_."

"Shut up, egotistical bastard."

"_Why'm I a bastard now? And it's just pointing out facts. Who wouldn't wanna tap this?" _She shakes her head in disbelief. At first, she was slightly uncomfortable with his ego and crass humor, how open he was about sex, but she's grown used to it now.

It's just how Dean is. He's a womanizer, she's figured it out, though he's never said it outright.

"_I can hear you laughing_." He quiets down, and Marah yawns again. "_Okay, now we really gotta hang up." _

"Dean-"

"_Marah-" _he imitates her voice, though making it very high pitched and whiny.

"I don't sound like that." She laughs.

"_Go to sleep." _Dean tells her. _"I'll call you again before next Friday." _

"Promise?" She asks.

"_Promise." _His voice is sincere, and she believes him right away. _"Night." _

"Good night." She says back, "Be careful."

* * *

Marah's head rested on the window of the car on the way to school the next morning, or, later that morning. Jackie sat in the passenger, sending her little sister glances every so often. Finally, she pulled the car over.

"Hey, uh, school's a little bit further." Marah pointed out, lifting her head up.

"Who's Dean." It wasn't a question, more of a 'you're going to tell me now' sort of statement. Marah decided to play dumb regardless.

"What?"

"Oh come on, Marah!" Jackie raised her voice slightly, her eyes narrowing, "Our rooms are right next to each other. I could hear you talking last night." Marah opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off, "Don't say you don't know. Is he who you've been talking to all the time for the past few months? Do you even know who he is? Cause there's no one named Dean at our school, so he's not from around here, do you-"

"Just freaking shut up Jackie!" Marah snapped, thinking almost instantly how she sounded a bit like Dean. "He's a friend okay? Just don't tell Mom or Dad, _please_." Marah didn't beg often, but now she was.

"Why? What's wrong with him? And what about Tyrell?"

"Nothings _wrong_ with him!" Marah snapped, growing defensive. "And we're just friends. He's twenty-two."

"Marah!" Jackie gasped, "That's-that's illegal!"

"We're not fucking! I've met the guy once-"

"You've met him _once_!?"

"Yeah!" Her voice was rising now too, a weight settling onto her chest as her anger rose. "He's a good guy, he just wanted someone to fucking talk to!"

"Why you then? Huh, why'd he pick a seventeen year old girl!?"

"I don't know! He was at the café, said he could use someone to talk to then! I helped him out!" she yelled, running a hand through her hair. "His job is stressful or something, he's on the road a lot with his family and his dad and brother haven't been getting along."

"What job does he have?" Jackie asks her, her eyes still wide in disbelief at what she was hearing. She thought her little sister was just talking to some other guy from a few towns over, but after hearing the conversation last night, she had to make sure.

"I don't know, he doesn't tell me. He saves people though."

"He could be a freaking lunatic! Maybe his family just is wanted by the law and they get by on credit card scams and fake ID's!" Marah scoffs aloud.

"_Come on_ Jackie! He's not crazy, he's a good person! And his family doesn't do anything illegal!"

"How would you know? He doesn't tell you anything!"

"I just _know _okay!?" Marah's voice rackets off the inside of their Honda Civic. Jackie glares back at her, lips pursed together and her eyes narrowed. Marah takes a deep breath, squeezing the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "I know what I'm doing, just don't tell Mom and Dad. If he starts sounding like some psycho killer, I'll stop talking to him, okay?"

"Promise?"

"Promise." Marah rolls her eyes, "Can we please go to school now?" In response, Jackie puts the Sedan back in drive, pulling away from the curb.

* * *

She waited by the bench where they had first talked four months ago. Her legs crossed, leaning back against the cold wood and looking out over the snow-covered landscape. By now, the river was frozen, it had been for the past few weeks, since before Christmas.

Marah let out a breath, watching it come out of her mouth before it disappeared into the cold air. She glanced down at her phone again, seeing the text she had sent two hours ago.

'You still coming?'

She hadn't gotten a reply back yet. She hadn't heard anything from Dean in the past two days, she still hoped though. And she was worried, she always was worried about him though. Last they talked, four nights ago, Dean had gotten into a fight with Sam. About how Sam said he was growing up, and he didn't need Dean to look out for him anymore.

But that was Dean's job. He said it himself to her. Look out for Sammy, it's what he did. Marah didn't get how Sam could be so blind as to not see that Dean couldn't just turn his protectiveness on and off.

She shivered slightly, pulling the leather air force jacket on tighter around her body. It had been Derek's from when he first enlisted, though once he grew out of it, he had to get a new one, and Marah got it. She smiled softly to herself, wondering what her brother was up to at that moment.

He hadn't gotten leave in over six months. Christmas hadn't been the same without him, they'd had to settle for only a phone call. It was better than nothing though.

Marah looked out over the frozen river again, watching the bison all stand together. They migrate to just outside of Stillwater in the fall, spending the summer months in the park itself.

Her thoughts drift to the fight she had with her parents last night, once again regarding the near constant texting and phone calls. She hadn't meant to start yelling at them outright, but she hadn't texted all day, Dean hadn't said anything, so she didn't get why they brought it up at the table.

Jackie had given her a knowing look, one she knew was telling her to just tell their mom and dad. But Marah wouldn't do that. What would she even say?

'Hey, mom, dad, I met this guy once and now we talk all the time. No he doesn't live anywhere really, he's five years older than me actually, nope I don't know what he does.' Yeah. That would go over fantastically well.

She thinks that maybe, he's been playing with her this whole time. _He's not going to show up,_ she thinks, _I'm just stupid_. But she can't help checking her phone one last time, glancing down, hoping that by some miracle, Dean'll suddenly reply, say something, _anything_.

But nothing happens, the hunk of metal in her hand stays silent, unmoving. "Son of a bitch." She mumbles, angry at him now, and pushes herself to her feet. Their cold, and she can't feel her toes as she turns and starts back towards home.

She stuffs her hands in her jacket pockets, the fleece lined insides warming them slightly and she clenches her fingers into a fist, clenching and unclenching in order to stimulate the blood flow.

She stays on the shoveled path, keeping her gaze down as the sunlight slowly fades from the sky. There's a tug in her chest, and she feels tears pricking at the back of her eyes, and that makes her angry too. She shouldn't be disappointed. Or upset.

Maybe he just got caught up in something. She doesn't know what, since she doesn't know what he does, but maybe something got in the way. Why would he put aside time just to come see _her _anyways.

"Marah!" she doesn't hear her name. She keeps trudging along, her jaw set, molars grinding slightly in order to keep back to persistent tears she feels trying to fight their way to the surface. But she doesn't want to cry over him, over the essence of the guy who would listen to her. "Marah!"

She hears him that time, and stops in her tracks, almost at the end of the path. She turns around slowly, and let's out a breath when she sees the tall, broad shouldered blonde.

"You weren't gunna stand me up were ya? No girls' ever done that to me!" he shouts slightly so she can hear him, though starts walking towards her as he talks.

"Maybe it'd do your ego some good." She snaps, and Dean's eyebrows raise, his hands going up as if in surrender.

"Why're you mad?" he asks, only a few feet away now.

"Why didn't you answer my text!" she snaps back, taking a step towards him now. "I waited for _hours _for you Dean! _Hours!" _Now that she's yelling, she can't seem to stop. "I sat by that fucking bench for four hours waiting for your sorry ass to show up! You said you'd be there and then you weren't so I waited, and I waited and you never even thought to say you were still coming! Do you know how damn stupid I felt!? No! Why would you!? All-"

"Marah, stop." It's his hands on her shoulders, not his words, that make her stop yelling at him, and when she does, she can feel the tears that are going down her face. Dean pulls her into a hug, wrapping his strong arms around her, and she listens to his heartbeat. His chest rumbles soothingly, and she listens as he hums deeply. She recognizes the song, 'Hey, Jude' and feels herself relaxing as he keeps going.

"You think I wasn't comin' anymore?" she doesn't say anything. "How could you think that?" he asks, still holding her close to him, "My phone got busted a few days ago, haven't been able to get a new one yet."

He smells like beer, leather, and gunpowder. Marah takes a deep breath, calming down slightly and pulling away. "We good now?" Dean asks her, running a hand over her hair.

"Guess so." She tells him, and Dean grins slightly. It grows into a smirk, and Marah smiles up at him. "Your hair's longer."

"So is yours." He shoots back.

"I'm a girl, it's supposed to be long."

"I've never noticed a difference in girls with short hair versus girls with long."

"Difference in wh-" she cuts herself off, knowing his exact answer, "Never mind." Dean just winks at her, his green eyes shining.

"Come on," Dean picks her up swiftly then, and Marah lets out a high-pitched squeal.

"Dean!" he laughs at her, turning around to head towards the bench.

"You're light as a kitten, you know that?" he teases.

"Put me down!"

"Naw, you'll be too slow."

"I'm not slow."

"Compared to what? A snail?"

"Fuck off. Bitch."

"Jerk." He shoots back, not even hesitating with his comeback, as though he's been saying it all his life. Marah doesn't know that he has indeed been doing just that.

"Asshole."

"Cunt."

"Whore."

"Aw damn Marah, that one hurt." Dean smirks down at her, "Retard."

"Douchebag." Marah laughs, a musical sound that makes Dean smile. "Missed ya." She tells him then, as he puts her down on her own two feet.

"Course you did." He replies, and she hits his arm. "Come on, no click flick moments here."

"You just carried me down a path, we've already crossed over into chick flick moment."

"True, but don't you think the insults canceled it out?"

"Possibly." She thinks it over, then comes up with a new question. "You know, I don't know your last name."

"You don't?" He asks, though he knows she doesn't. "I don't know yours either."

"Bradshaw." She tells him easily.

"Winchester."

"250 or 270?" she teases, and he looks down at her, surprised.

"You know rifles?"

"I know lots of things." She gloats, making Dean's eyes narrow at her. "My dad runs a general store in a rural western town and my brother's in the military, Dean." She points out.

"Right."

"But anyways, I prefer the lever-action to the slide-action, makes me feel better about myself." Dean shakes his head in disbelief.

"I like the Taurus." He tells her, and she makes a face. "What?"

"Which model?"

"92." Her twisted frown softens slightly.

"How many rounds?"

"Seventeen." Marah lets out a low whistle.

"Recoil-activated, detachable box."

"That's the one." Dean confirms, feeling the weapon against his skin where he has it in the waistband of his jeans, just in case.

They talk there for the next hour, and once the sun has gone down, walk back towards down, getting seats at one of the more secluded bars just outside of town.

It's muggy inside, the place's aroma a mixture of beer nuts, whiskey, and cigar smoke. The place has been around ever since Marah can remember, though she'd only ventured in twice before that night, both times with Derek by her side. Now she has Dean.

She tells him about her school, making him laugh as she insults her physics teacher, and making him frown when she tells him how some of the kids pick on the underclassmen.

"It's not right." He tells her, shaking his head, "Even the nerdy kids, they shouldn't be terrorized for who they are."

Dean tells her about all the different places he's been, the people he's met in the past four months. They talk, and talk, and talk until finally, they can't put off goodbye any longer.

"I'll call once I get a new phone." He promises.

"You remember my number?"

"Course I do." He smirks. "Don't start ignoring me is all."

"Never dream of it Winchester." She grins up at him, and Dean shakes his head at her, before bringing her in for a hug. She holds on to him tightly, letting out a staggering breath while trying to swallow the lump in her throat, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head.

She's glad he can't feel her heart skip a beat.

* * *

"Come on Davis! Can't you hold your own locker open?" a boy in Marah's grade teases a freshman, slamming the kid's locker shut. Marah stands beside her best friend, Taylor Chapman, who shakes her head.

"He's such a dick." She says sadly, watching the freshman work to unlock his locker again, the older boy still standing right there, ready to slam it again. Marah watches, knowing what he's going to do, and decides she's not going to stand on the sidelines anymore.

_It's not right_. At some point in the last eight months, Marah's come to value Dean's words. He's one of her best friends. Sure, they've only seen each other twice, the last time being four months ago, but they speak every chance they get.

Their friendship was changing Marah too. She was more confident, talked to more people she wouldn't have before, questioned things more. Her dad was proud she was becoming more independent. Her mother thought she was becoming rebellious.

Marah hands her books wordlessly to Taylor, who gives her a 'what-the-fuck' look, and Marah sets her backpack on the ground. She walks towards where the bully is standing with his posse. "Why don't you go pick on someone else." she says, walking over so she's standing in front of the black haired boy. He's taller than her, though not as tall as Dean, and still looks down on Marah.

"Yeah, I'd rather stick with the nerds." He laughs, the rest of his friends around him joining in. He elbows the kid next to him, "Why don't you stand outta the way Bradshaw? Don't wanna break a nail."

"At least Davis knows how to open a locker Mike, I bet you can't even get a girl to open her legs for you." His jaw drops, hanging comically down as she smiles sweetly at him, before turning and starting to walk away.

"That _bitch_." He's not ready for when she turns around, really, no one is. Marah's fist connects with his jaw so hard, Mike drops to the floor, letting out a shriek as his hands clutch his face.

"Hey! Hey!" kids start shouting, Mike's friends glaring at Marah and bending down to check on their friend.

"Fuck off." Marah spits down at him, turning on her heel. Taylor stares at her, eyes wide, and the freshman looks at her, giving her a soft smile before rushing down the hallway.

"Damn girl." Is all Taylor can say as they start walking away.

"Marah Bradshaw!" Marah stops, flinching as she turns to see a teacher standing in the doorway of one of the classrooms. "Main office. Now."

* * *

"Why did you think it necessary to punch Mr. Gavin?" the vice principal of the school asks Marah twenty minutes later. He's an older man, hair fading to gray, and he wears a tan cowboy hat on top of his head. Marah sits across from him, on the other side of his desk, hands folded in her lap. Her knuckles are red now, and ache just a little bit.

"Would you like the honest answer sir?" She asks, and the old man nods.

"I thought punching him would prove much more efficient in the situation than words would in shutting him up." She's deadly serious, and the vice-principal nods his head slowly, mouth pursed together.

"I see." Is all he says, "And this course of action was provoked by what?"

"He was bullying a freshman sir."

"Stop violence with violence? Ms. Bradshaw, I am acquainted with your mother, so I am sure you've heard the saying 'an eye for an eye'."

"With all due respect. I believe my approach was perfectly viable and appropriate."

* * *

'I got suspended.' It's a simple text she sends to Dean that night, lying on her bed as the rest of her family eats dinner downstairs. She doesn't get dinner tonight, as part of her punishment.

A week suspension from school for fighting wasn't something her parents ever thought they'd have to deal with, with any of their children. Her father had been proud, he hadn't said it aloud, but she could see it in his eyes. Her mother had been horrified, and Marah had gotten an hour long lecture on why violence doesn't solve problems.

'_FOR WHAT?_' is Dean's response twenty minutes later. He's working a job in Pennsylvania at the moment, he's told her that much at least.

'fighting.'

'_did they deserve it?_'

'course they freakin' deserved it, not just going round beating the shit outta random people'

'_okay good_' she lets out a snort, rolling her eyes as the next text comes in '_wanna say what happened.' _

'asshole was bullying a freshman. Called me a bitch too.'

'_well…..'_

'shut up jerk'

'…_bitch'_

"Marah," the door to her room opens, and the phone is flipped shut in less than a second. Her mother walks in, blonde hair falling in waves past her shoulders. "I need your phone." She says, holding out her hand.

"No!" Is Marah's immediate response.

"_Yes_. It's a part of your punishment, you've been on that damned thing too much."

"But Mom-"

"Marah! Give it to me, you'll get it back in three days." Marah opened her mouth to protest, "I won't look through it, it's going in a drawer and no one will touch it." Marah sighed, looking down longingly at her only connection to Dean. Her Mom took a few steps into her room, holding her hand out expectantly.

Reluctantly, Marah got up from her bed, walking over and placing the device in her mom's hand. "Thank you." Her mom said politely. "I hope you realize what you did was wrong."

"Yes," Marah said dejectedly, her mother raised an eyebrow, "ma'am." Marah added on to the end and her mom nodded, satisfied.

"I expect you to write Mike an apology letter by tomorrow afternoon, I'll mail it for you."

"Mom!"

"Marah!" her mouth snapped closed as her mother raised her voice. She hardly ever did so inside the house. "This is not up for discussion. You _will _write him an apology. Is that clear."

"Yes ma'am." Marah mumbled.

"We'll also bake him something to send with it." With that her mom exited the room, Marah's phone in her hand, and closed the door behind her. Marah plopped down on her bed, arms crossed over her chest.

"I hope your apple pie is freaking worth it." She grumbled to herself, hating Mike Gavin even more so than usual.

* * *

**feel free to review! I love hearing what you all think! Big thanks to all those who favorited and followed!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't own the boys…**

* * *

_Chapter Three: Crazy Love_

* * *

**Songs: Crazy Love - Jensen Ackles &amp; Jason Manns, The Call - Regina Spektor**

* * *

A bead of sweat rolled down Marah's forehead as she wiped down tables inside the café. Even with the fans going, it was still stifling in the small establishment. Outside, it was even worse, the temperature pushing a hundred degrees. A piece of her dark hair clung to the back of her sweaty neck, and the now nineteen-year-old girl paused to fix her hair, pulling it up into a messy bun atop her head.

A recent graduate of Stillwater High School, Marah had only been suspended three times in her four years there, all of them for fighting. Given, she held good reasons for all of them; the school just wouldn't accept her use of her fist to get bullies to shut the hell up.

Her sister, Jackie, on the other hand, had just finished up her first year at Montana State, and was home for the summer already. As a change to past years, Derek was home as well, being on a month's leave in order to visit. In result to having the eldest of their children home, Marah's mother's attention was drawn away from her youngest's constant use of her cell phone. A topic that had been battled about numerous times in the past two years.

No, they still weren't aware of Marah's connection with Dean Winchester, but it was still just as strong. He was her best friend, even though it had been over a year and a half since she last saw him. He didn't tell her everything, but she knew the major events in his life, more so than anyone else.

She was the one he called, close to tears, that night that Sammy left for Stanford. She was the one he called after he'd had a 'rough job'. She was the one he called when he had no one left to turn to. Because she listened, sure, she knew she didn't understand everything, but she'd be damned if she didn't listen to Dean.

It had been two weeks since she last heard from him. Eight months ago, this would have worried her, but now, she was used to long gaps of silence from him.

Marah picked up her rag again, moving to the next table and began wiping it down. Things had been busy that morning at the café, and more people were expected to come as an escape from the heat for the lunch rush.

Evelyn, who was home and re-employed after her first year at Arizona State, sat in front of one of the bigger fans.

"You're hogging the fan." Marah told her, mock glaring at the older girl who she had grown closer to over the past two years. Evelyn just laughed at her, waving her hand aimlessly.

"One of the perks of getting a college education." She joked.

"Come on, I don't need to go to college, I'll get a job on my own just fine and then be without all those damned taxes and loans." Marah's parents hadn't been too happy with their daughter's decision to end her education on her high school diploma. But, as she pointed out, it was her life, and she'd deal with any consequences that came her way. Besides, as her dad told her, there was always work to be done in the store.

"Shut up." Evelyn was laughing though, and didn't really mean it. "Oh, while you're up, you wanna go fix those newspapers? Kid who dropped them off just threw'em down."

"You really think people will care if our newspaper stack isn't straight?" Marah asked, though she was already on her way over to them.

"No, but Angela will." Evelyn pointed out. "It is her day to come in."

"I know that." Marah rolled her eyes.

The bell sounded above the door, and she looked up, smiling as a couple walked inside. "Good afternoon, Evelyn will be right with you, any seat is fine." They smiled and nodded their thanks. She knew them, everyone knew everybody in Stillwater, but it was just too hot out for unnecessary words. Of all people, she knew the Gardnier's would understand.

Marah stood up, making her way back towards the kitchen, hearing Evelyn ask for their order.

Once again, her mind drifted to Dean. She thought of the picture he sent her almost a year ago. It was of himself, along with his brother Sam. In the picture, Dean was sitting at a table in someone's kitchen, a beer bottle in his hand. He's grinning, almost smiling, holding the bottle up slightly as though he's waving. Across from him, a taller kid occupied the seat. His hair was long, darker than Dean's, and his eyes weren't the same green. His features weren't as defined, and he defiantly looked like a Sammy to Marah.

On the back, Dean had written her a note in his sloppy handwriting.

'_Marah, this is my geek brother Sam. That charming devil across from him is obviously me. Hope I got the address right, that'd be awkward if I didn't. See ya soon kitten._

_Dean.'_

But it hadn't been true, and thirteen months later, she still hadn't seen him. He had sent her more pictures though, in the months after. Each one addressed to her under a different name, never using his own. She noticed the pattern though after the first few, always names of members of a classic rock group.

James Hetfield. John Bonham. Robert Plant. David Roth.

They made her laugh, and he was very happy that she picked up on the names. When she asked why he never sent it using his own name, he just said he knew she'd like the whole alias thing.

Dean didn't mail her things often, just once in a few months, and she felt like it was his way of making up to her the fact they hadn't seen each other in such a long time. Marah was always disappointed she couldn't mail anything back, since he didn't have an address.

Rowdy voices brought her attention to the front of the café, and a smile spread across her face as she watched the boys practically tripping over themselves as they made their way inside.

"Where's my girl?" A deep voice asked, and Marah rolled her eyes as Tyrell made his way over. "Found ya." He smirked at her, his blue eyes shining before he leaned and pressed his lips to hers. Her hands found their way up atop his shoulders, as his settled on her hips.

The black haired boy pulled back a moment later, a shit-eating grin on his face. "You have to sit down if you wanna be served." Marah teased, and Tyrell rolled his eyes, glancing back to see the group he came in with was already taking up a corner booth.

"Come on Mar, you know Vince is a dick to have to sit next to. We could just go." His eyebrows raised, and she smacked his chest.

"I'm working, now go, sit." She pushed him, and he made a face before turning and taking a few steps towards the booth. She followed, going to take their order. He turned around stealing one more kiss from her anyways before sitting down as Marah glared at him.

"She's gunna break up with ya some day Ty." One of the other boys joked.

"Naw, she loves me, Cole." Tyrell waved him off.

"Who lied to you? Marah asks, Tyrell's mouth dropping open as his friends all laugh.

"Yes, Marah!" She leans over, high fiving Cole before smirking at her boyfriend. He frowns at her, and she kisses his cheek quickly.

"Water, water, coke, root beer, sprite, lemonade.." She points to each boy as she recites their usual drink order.

"Yup." They all agree, and Marah turns away, making her way back towards the kitchen to get the drinks.

* * *

She couldn't tear her gaze away from the motel parking lot. Marah was sure she was wrong, just seeing what her heart wanted to see.

But it's hard to mistake a 67' Impala for anything else. Especially when she had a picture, of what she hoped was that exact car, in her room hidden away in a drawer along with the rest of the pictures Dean had sent her. Marah could feel her heartbeat going faster and faster, and she glanced both ways before jogging across the street.

It had been three weeks since she last spoke with Dean, but she knew his dad had given him the Impala almost six months ago. He had been over the moon about it. His exact words were: 'she's better than sex'.

Brandy paused in front of the motel room door that the car was parked in front of. She ran a hand through her hair, nerves washing over her suddenly. But she raised her fist, knocking on the door before she could think anything more of it.

"I said no maids!" came the gruff, somewhat muffled, reply from inside.

"Dean?" she called out, loud enough for him to hear. She heard scrambling, and then a crash that made her burst out laughing. Seconds later, the door was flung open.

Neither of them moved. She looked him over, while he looked her over. He was taller, more muscular than before, and his features were more defined. She hadn't thought it was possible, but he looked even better than he did before.

Her lips turned down into a frown when she saw the scars on his arms, and one on his face. "Hey." His voice brought her attention back to now, and she starred at him openly for a moment. His lips pulled up into a smirk, an eyebrow rising at her.

Maybe it was how much he'd grown, or how handsome he looked, or how happy she was to see him. But really, she knew it was how damn _lonely _he looked. She could see it in his eyes, how they were different from the last time she saw him. Anyone could notice it, but she could put a name to it, perhaps she was the only person who could.

He wasn't prepared when she took two steps towards him, her hand resting on the side of his neck as she brought her lips up to his, having to go on her tip toes in order to reach him. He was stone still, not moving at all, but even then, it was the best kiss she'd had.

Marah put her feet back flatly on the floor, eyes downcast as she bit her bottom lip slightly. A nervous habit. It took a moment for her to look up at him again, Dean hadn't said anything.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that." She admitted to him, wishing he'd say something. "And if, ya know, I'm sorry." She put a hand over her face, shaking her head.

"Marah." She looked back at him, and he pushed her hand down before she could say anything else, his lips were on hers again a moment later. It was different, world-shattering now that he was kissing her. She was glad his arms were there to catch her as her knees went weak.

Dean held her upright, holding her arms, and pulled away slowly. "It's fine." He let one hand trail down her bare arm, taking her hand in his before closing the door. She intertwined her fingers together, and he let her, squeezing tightly.

"You didn't call." She whispered, because for some reason, she didn't want to say anything too loudly. Like she would scare this side of Dean away, and she'd be left with nothing but the tough bravado that he put up for the world to see him as.

"I know." When she looked up into his eyes, she saw the pain again, the loneliness, and her heart ached for him. "I've been thinking, about_ this_." He emphasized his words, squeezing her hand, and she felt her heart sink in her chest. Marah's hand went limp in his and Dean let go, watching as she took two steps back, shaking her head.

"_No_." she sounded like she was scolding him for the thoughts he hadn't shared yet.

"I came to say goodbye Marah." Tears made their way down her face, and she quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand.

"_No!_" she was more forceful this time. "Don't you dare say goodbye Dean." Her gaze hardened, and she struggled to swallow past the lump in her throat.

"This isn't going to work. Not with my job."

"And what Dean!? Friendship!?" She cut him off, her voice rising so she was almost yelling, "You won't even tell me what your fucking job is! I've gone two _years _not knowing! And I've never asked!"

"You don't wanna know." His voice was lower now, deadly serious.

"I'm pretty sure I do." She snapped back at him, looking up at his face. "Damn sure I do."

"You wouldn't believe me." Dean struggled to keep his temper in check, keeping his voice slow and at a low volume. She didn't like it, she wanted him mad, wanted him angry like she was.

"Try me, Winchester." Marah crossed her arms over her chest.

"No, okay, just no." Dean's jaw set, and she could see the muscle tense up before he let a breath out through his nose, nostrils flaring. "You're gunna go off to some American college, and get a degree, and live some apple pie life and forget all about me."

"I'm not going to college." She thought she'd told him that. "And I'm sure as hell never going to forget about you."

"What?"

"I don't fit in here! Can't you see that? Anyone can see that much Dean. Look around, all the girls wearing their dresses all the time, inheriting the family business, staying in this little town for the rest of their lives. No, the people here are wrong and I've never fit in, not really. I don't want to stay here. I don't want to settle down, have a job, raise a family. Do you know how damn _boring _that sounds."

"I think that sounds freakin' awesome."

"Well I don't." she walked over to the couch, sinking down onto it and running her hands over her face before looking back to him. "I read your texts, your letters. All how you travel the country, the people you meet. That's what I want to do. Not be held by some required work hours, some big shot executive tellin' me how to live my life, I-"

"I hunt freakin' monsters!" Dean shouts out finally, cutting her off.

"What?" she demanded, her eyebrows jumping as she spoke.

"I hunt monsters." He repeats, slower this time. "Those stories you hear, of things that go bump in the night? They're real, all of them, and I hunt them down. Ghosts, werewolves, vampires, wendigos, changlings, skinwalkers, ghouls. All of it, all of it's real, and I hunt the sons of bitches and gank'em." He gets more amped as he goes, his voice rising. At the end, he lets out a breath, glaring at her, waiting for Marah to respond.

"Okay."

"Okay?!" he asks incredulously, "I just told you all things supernatural are real and you're gunna say okay? No your insane, your lying, or your crazy!? No freak out?!"

"Nope." She crosses one leg over the other. "I'm glad that's settled now."

Marah stood up, walked over to Dean and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest. His arms came around her, one resting on the back of her head, and he kissed her hair quickly as his heart continued to pound in his chest, the adrenaline from yelling still coursing through his veins. She smiled softly, looking up and moment later and standing up on her toes to kiss his lips.

She couldn't think of anything else but Dean as he reciprocated, pressing his lips to hers harder than before. Her body pressed up against his, until there wasn't any space left between the two of them. A sound came from deep in Dean's throat, sounding almost like a growl, making her smile, and Dean smirk, biting her bottom lips softly between his teeth.

It escalated slowly from there. Her hands moving to the front of his chest, undoing the buttons of his flannel shirt and pushing it to the floor, leaving him only in a wife beater. Dean's hands moving until they were both on the sides of her face, his thumbs stroking along her jawline. His shirt hitting the floor, and Marah standing back to look him over.

The expanse of muscled tan skin before her was littered with scars. Dean stood still in front of her, his eyes watching the emotions that flashed through her eyes. Curiosity, concern, sadness. Her fingers were cold against his skin as she trailed them lightly over his scars, barely touching him as though he would break underneath her touch. Claw marks down his side, still deeply cut into his skin.

When she began to pull her own shirt off, Dean opened his mouth. "You don't-"

"Shh." She cut him off, giving him a ghost of a smile before removing her shirt, left only in a sports bra, she didn't have to point out the flaws in her own skin.

Four long streaks tore across her stomach, the remains of two puncture wounds in her side. Dean's eyes widened, his own hand coming up to feel them. "I got attacked by a dog when I was little." She tells him. And then presses her lips to one of his, making Dean shiver and grip her shoulders with his hands.

Their lips find each other again, and Dean backs her up until she's sitting on his bed, and then lays her back, climbing up over her, supporting himself on an elbow. He takes it slowly, letting her set the pace at which they go, constantly asking if she's okay, if she wants to stop. To just tell him if she does.

She's surprised at how gentle he is. He laughs when she tells him this, and his hips grind down onto hers. "Wanna change that?" he smirks down at her.

"No." it's the last coherent word he'll get out of her for the time being.

Dean takes his time, their time, and is slow. Working to memorize each new area of skin he touches, he sees, he kisses. She's like a game of Operation, though now, he wants the buzzer to go off. He wants to make her scream.

He helps her slide his jeans off, surprised when she wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him down so all his weight is on top of her. But he's not close enough, chest to chest, he pushes himself up in a shift motion, bringing her with him and pulling her bra off from over her head.

His mouth is there instantly, her head falling back as she moans his name. His fingers dig harder into her skin, and her nails grate down his back, leaving long red marks and urging him on. One hand finds it's way into his short hair, and she tugs his face up, kissing his lips once more as his hands work to rid her of her own pants.

She kicks them to the floor, her underwear following soon after, and she hisses when Dean's hand travels between her thighs.

"You like this?" he asks innocently, moving his hand away when she can't reply. He laughs when her hand shoots down to grab his, stopping him from moving further away. "You gotta tell me." He smirks as she glares.

"Asshole." She breaths out, rocking her hips upwards, bucking against him and Dean hisses.

"I wouldn't do that if you wanna go all the way kitten." He warns her, though now she's the one smirking, digging her nails into his shoulders and bucking against him again.

They work quickly after that, Dean's boxers finding their way to the floor, joining the rest of their clothes. She stares, down at him for a moment, and Dean's shit eating grin is what meets her eyes when she looks back to his face. He's only gone for a moment to get a condom.

He goes in slow for her, his jaw clenched as she kisses his neck. She bites down when he first enters her, pain shooting through her as her body works to adjust to fit him. "You're so," Dean can't finish, panting as he slowly goes deeper. Her face contorts in pain, and Dean balances himself on one arm so he can stroke her face with the other, pressing a kiss to her forehead, her cheek. He can tell instantly when the pain turns to pleasure, and he pulls out slightly, thrusting back in.

Skin slaps against skin as sweat covers both of their bodies. They find a rhyme quickly, and she finds her voice. "Faster." She pants at him, and Dean reaches another level, never being the one who's being told what to do. "Come on Dean, faster."

"You try to keep up." He breaths, thrusting harder, feeling himself nearing the edge.

She's beautiful when she comes, shouting his name out. It's the sound of his own name that makes Dean go over too, his whole body weight resting down on her. Marah runs a hand through his hair, the usual spikes clinging to his sweaty forehead.

She gazes into his emerald green eyes, closing her eyes as she kisses him softly, loving every moment. Loving him.

And she knows it's true. She does love him. But she can't tell him, not yet, maybe not ever. He may not love her, but she'll take what she can get.

"Take me with you." She whispers an hour later, still lying in Dean's arms, her body naked and his arms wrapped around her. Their faces inches apart.

"Hmm?" his eyes open.

"When you go," she clarifies, "Take me with you." Dean leans forward kissing her quickly.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's too dangerous. I don't want you getting hurt. Or killed." His rough, calloused hand comes up to sweep the hair out of her face.

"But-" he cuts her off with a kiss again, finding it much more effective than words.

"I'll come back, visit you more. I promise, long as you wait for me."

"I'll worry about you." And he sees the fear in her eyes. The fear for him that she has, now that she knows.

"No need to. I'm like Batman." She rolls her eyes at him, noticing how he's just like a kid still. She kicks his foot with her own underneath the sheets. "I'll be fine."

"I'll wait for you. And you better call, and you better never say goodbye."

"Babe, after this, I ain't planning on ever saying goodbye." Dean smirks at her, winking quickly.

"That's the only thing that changed your mind?" she teases.

"No," Dean stops joking, "Course not." He looks down when she lifts his right hand up, looking at the ring on his finger. "That was my mom's."

"How'd she die?" Marah asks, and Dean looks at her surprised, having never told her. "I figured it out." She explains, seeing his face.

"Oh." His face falls, "She was, uh, killed by a demon. When Sam was six months old. Pinned to the ceiling, Dad says she was bleeding all over, her body contorted. I just remember the fire, racing out with Sam in my arms. That's what started Dad onto hunting. Still trying to find Yellow Eyes."

"Yellow Eyes?" she asks.

"The demon, he's different, has yellow eyes instead of black." She nods as though he just told her the weather was calling for rain now. She can see the pain in his eyes as he talks about it, and lifts a hand slowly, running her fingers through his hair as his eyes stay locked on hers.

"Take a sad song, and make it better." She sings it softly, remembering him humming it to her all those months ago. Dean's eyes close, and she leans forward to kiss his forehead. "Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start. To make it better." She hums the rest, not quite remembering all the words. Her eyes drift close, and she smiles when Dean's grip tightens around her.

"I want you to keep it." Her eyes slide open then, and Dean's holding the ring out to her. "I always worry about losing it, so you can keep it safe for me."

"You'll have to come back to get it." She points out, and he grins.

"Guess so." He watches her slide the ring onto her right hand, and he smiles when it fits. "You know what'd be fun?" mischief gleams in his eyes, and all she can do is laugh. "Round two." In the next moment, he's back on top of her.

* * *

Dean's the first one to wake up at the sound of pounding on the motel door. As he swings his legs out from the bed, Marah catches his hand, he looks down at her naked form, giving her a soft smile, nodding his head towards the door. She sits up, letting go of his hand and Dean tosses her his discarded shirt from the floor, pulling his jeans on.

"Open the fuckin' door!" Marah's eyes widen as the voice penetrates through the wooden door.

"Alright! Calm down, man!" Dean calls back, running a hand through is hair. He opens the door, only to quickly close it more, leaning against the doorframe so their guest can't see inside.

The man outside is tall, taller than Dean is, and his dark hair buzzed into what Dean recognizes as Air Force regulations. His sideburns are well kept, tapering off, his hair buzzed so it fades out, and is kept in a crew cut, the top flat. His skin is tan, and he stand with his arms crossed over his broad chest. An Air Force jacket hugging his body.

"What's up?" Dean asks, his eyebrows rose as the man's eyes narrow, taking in Dean's lack of dress. He thinks Dean must be military as well, given his hair is cut short, and would meet Army standards if it were well kept at the moment.

"I'm looking for someone, got word she was seen round here this morning." Dean's jaw clenches, and he instantly knows the man is looking for the girl who is currently in his bed. With his shirt on. Without pants. Who he just slept with. Twice.

Behind him, Marah slips out of the bed silently, finishing buttoning up Dean's shirt as she grabs her jeans from the floor.

"Sorry dude, I've been in here all day." Dean shrugs his shoulders. Derek fishes through his pocket, taking out a photo, and holding it out for Dean to see.

It is Marah, a few years younger, sitting in the back of a truck, Derek's arm slung around her shoulders as they smile for whoever was taking the picture. A German Shepard sits on the ground below them. "This is her, she's a few years older now though." Derek explains as Dean studies the picture. "Sure you haven't seen her?"

"Look, I'm not from around here. I haven't seen'er. If I do, I'll be sure to pass the message along that your lookin' for'er. But I'm sure she's fine, dude, where ever she is."

Derek nods his head, slipping the photo back into his pocket. "Thanks," he sounds like he doesn't really mean it, and turns away, making his way back to the 1993 Ford F-150 that sits idling in the parking lot. Dean lets out a breath, closing the door and turning around.

Marah stands by the bed, her jeans back on now, and Dean's dark brown plaid shirt makes her look smaller than she already is. He smirks, and then picks up his amulet off of the table by the door, putting it back on around his neck. "Maybe you should get home." He tells her, though he wants her to stay.

"No," Dean raises an eyebrow as she walks towards him, warping her arms around his neck and placing her head on his bare chest, listening to the consistent beating of his heart. It makes her smile. "I wanna stay with you, they need to not worry so much."

* * *

"Park there." Marah points to a spot close to the edge of the cliff she's given Dean directions too. It's a pull over spot for tourists, but this late at night it's deserted.

When Dean told her he'd be in town for two days, she'd been over the moon. Not wanting to leave his side for a moment, she had practically dragged him out to the Impala saying there was something he 'just _had_ to see', even if it was ten o'clock at night.

So now they were here, and as soon as the ignition is shut off, Marah hops out, walking over to the front of the classic car and looking to Dean. "Can I sit on the hood?" she asks, knowing full well she shouldn't just go ahead and plop her ass down. Dean shakes his head, grinning, and kisses her quickly.

"Course." Marah gets up on the hood, arms around her knees, as Dean sits beside her, looking out over the dark valley. The full moon illuminates a lot of it, and he can see the reflection in the river below, a forest starting miles away. "What's here?" he asks, looking over at her, the moonlight making it so he could see her face still.

"Look there." She says as a reply, pointing out, down in the valley, with her left hand. Dean squints, still not seeing anything. She notices his perplexed expression, and laughes softly. "Don't look so hard."

That's when his eyes make out the dark shapes huddled together. "What is that?"

"Bison." She answers as though it's obvious. The more Dean looks, the more he sees the dark shapes. "Hundreds of them."

"Woah." Dean stares out at them, transfixed.

"Be quiet for a minute, I wanna show you why I dragged ya here." She doesn't wait for a reply, cupping her hands around her mouth and letting out howl. Dean stifles a laugh, and she elbows him in the ribs, letting out another long howl before falling silent. "Wait." She whispers, the excitement clear in her voice. Dean thinks it's stupid, just a childish thing, until there is a response.

The sound sends chills through his whole body, and goose bumps appear all over Dean's arms. The wolves in the distance keep howling, singing together in response to Marah's call. It is a high-pitched, eerie noise, and Dean has never heard anything like it before. He keeps starring off in the direction they come from, and Marah rests her head on his shoulder.

"That's the Rose Creek Pack." She tells Dean, "The alpha, she was born a few months before I met you. There's nine of them now, none of the original pack members are still alive, which is a shame really, and two of them – 190 and 192 – they left the pack last summer, though I still see them around sometimes."

"How do you know all this?" Dean asks as the howls die down.

"I love them, grew up with them practically. My Dad would take me out here all the time, and we'd just sit and watch." Dean hums, just to show he's listening. "Up north, there's the Mill Creek pack, they don't really have a set territory yet, there's seven of them this year. Four years ago, I think it was four, they were moving right through town."

They sit in silence for a long time, Dean shifting her after a few minutes later so she sits in his lap, his arms wrapped around her to keep her warm as the temperature continues to drop. She tilts her head back, resting it on his chest while Dean rests his chin atop her head.

Marah doesn't want him to leave, doesn't know how she'll deal with him being gone, now more so than ever. She can't stop him, make him drop everything for her, she doesn't want him to do that. But for now, she can just hang on, take what she can get and deal with what will come when it gets there.

In his head, Dean toys with the idea of taking her with him. Having her there for hunts, on the road with him. He knows it won't ever happen though, not with his dad, not with Sam in college. He doesn't want her in that kind of danger either, he'd want her to wait in the motel rooms, the cheap, crappy motel rooms they stay in. He can't make her do that. He just can't, no matter how selfish he wants to be. Dean doesn't know what to really do. He's always been the love'em and leave'em type of guy.

She knows that too. He knows she does, and he doesn't know what she expects from him now. He doesn't want to ask. But here he is, hours after sex, still with the same chick. Dean grins, thinking smugly how Sam would never believe him if he told his kid brother.

"You treat sex like a drive-through item." His brother had told him in disgust once. Dean had shrugged, not seeing the big deal.

His gaze drifts from the dark valley before his eyes, to the girl in his arms. "You regret it?" he asks before he thinks, and she starts slightly, surprised by his rough voice being right beside her ear.

"Regret what?" she asks curiously, and Dean's eyebrows furrow together until she smirks up at him. "There's nothing about today I would have regret over Dean." A corner of Dean's mouth lifts up, and he presses a kiss right below her ear, making her shiver.

"Good." He says, a deep part of him unable to believe she makes him act so- he doesn't know the word. Mushy?

No, he doesn't think that's it. He'll never be mushy, never send flowers or give jewelry as some gift or any of that crap. Unguarded is what he decides on. How his walls come down instantly when he's with her.

Others – his dad, Sam, Bobby, Pastor Jim – it takes them hours to get his walls to come down even a little bit, if at all. But with Marah, there's an innocence there, in how much she trusts and accepts Dean for who he is, that he just can't help but be himself with her. Not just the tough, egotistical jerk that everyone sees, but a caring jerk.

* * *

"Where. Have. You. Been." Each word out of Leroy Bradshaw's mouth is articulated perfectly, laced in a deadly tone that makes Marah stop in her tracks before she's even finished easing the front door of their home shut all the way, trying not to make any noise. The sound of the lamp being switched on seems a thousand times louder than usual, and she turns to see him sitting in his favorite leather armchair, arms crossed over his chest. In the silence, the sound of the Impala's engine driving away seems too loud, as does the grandfather clock in the corner, as it ticks away the tension-filled seconds.

The older man takes in his daughter's shocked expression, and then her outfit, his eyes narrowing at the plaid shirt that he has never seen before, sticking out from under a large sweatshirt he has also never seen before. Her dark hair is pulled up in a bun on top of her head, and her arms hang limply by her sides.

"You have any idea how long we've been out looking for you? Derek was out for hours, young lady, damn it he even checked the motel!" Marah shrinks back as her father raises his voice. Something he almost never does.

I know he did, she thinks to herself, I was there. She stuffs her right hand into the front pocket of Dean's sweatshirt, not wanting her father to see the ring there.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" he asks, his voice lowering again, and Marah nods.

"Four A.M." Marah tells him, her voice coming out surprisingly steady, sounding a lot more confident than she feels. Because she's terrified.

"Your mother is worried sick about you. Derek is worried sick about you!"

"I'm sure he won't have an aneurism over it." It's out of her mouth before she can think, the snarky little comment, complete with an eye roll.

The Bradshaws never truly supported the practice of corporal punishment, let alone used it in their own home. Sure, they would admit to the tradition of washing a child's mouth out with soap if one of their kid's spoke out of turn, or said a curse, but never to beating their children. Spanking had a different definition than beating, Abigail would attest to that belief, and even told the story of her spanking Derek when he was fifteen at family holiday parties.

So when her father crossed the room, and smacked Marah across the face, the force sending her into the side of the stairwell, she wasn't expecting it in the slightest. Her eyes widens as her left hand cradles the throbbing side of her face, eyes watering from the sting.

"You don't speak to me like that, or ever make jokes about how you made your family members feel, do you understand me?" Marah's dad's voice is slightly shocked as well, though it barely shows. "Marah Bradshaw, do you understand?" he repeats, his words more calculated.

"Yes sir." Her voice hitches, and she looks up, the wood squeaking above her. Her mother stands at the top of the stairs, mouth set in thin line, her bathrobe on.

"Leroy," her voice is quiet and soft, as she makes her way down the stairs and hugs her youngest child. Still keeping her eyes on her husband over Marah's shoulder, "I think we need to have a conversation in the kitchen." Abigail pulls away, her hands coming up to the sides of Marah's face, thumbs running over her cheeks. "You go to your room." Her voice is soft, yet stern, and Marah nods, backing away and making her way slowly up the stairs and into her bedroom.

She should have known her brother would have heard the commotion downstairs. Or maybe he was simply staying up to see when she'd come home. No matter the reason, he lets himself into her room just seconds after she closes the door behind her.

"Mar-"

"Please don't yell at me." She cuts him off, the stinging from her father's hand still there on her cheek.

"I wasn't going to." He tells her, and she turns to look at him. Derek looks down at her, lips pursed together and eyebrows drawn and up in his 'why the hell would I do that' face. "What's his name?" that question catches her off-guard, and she opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water.

"_What?_" she finally gets out, and he takes a few steps towards her, his hand grasping onto Dean's sweatshirt.

"This was on the back of the chair in the room. I do notice things." Marah clences her jaw, turning away from her brother.

"I don't know what you're talking about Derek."

"Oh, come on Marah! The motel, the guy, bout my age, yey high." He holds his hand slightly below the top of his own head. "Blonde hair, green eyes, kind of a jerk."

"He's not a jerk!" her mouth snaps closed as the gap between Derek's hairline and eyebrows decreases.

"Tell me his name."

"No." Marah quips back.

"Fine," he sighs, "How about this. You tell me his name, or I tell mom and dad that you spent the day in a sleazy motel room with a guy who answered the door shirtless."

"You're a dick." Marah spits out at him, and Derek smiles.

"I can just, join that conversation in the kitchen…" he trails off, inching closer to the door.

"Derek." She warns, and he shrugs, walking backwards still.

"I mean, I'm sure they'd-"

"Dean." She breaths out, "His name's Dean, okay? Ya happy?"

"I'm exuberant." He stops walking, pulling out the chair from her desk and straddling it. "You just, run into Dean?"

"_No_, I'm not a slut Derek."

"But you do have a boyfriend." He points out, and Marah's stomach drops. She hadn't even. Didn't even think. "Which you didn't remember." Derek fills in, seeing her expression. "Good going sis, I'm going with you slept with him too."

"I-"

"You better not tell me I'm wrong." Derek cuts her off, "Because I know I'm right. You know how I know I'm right?" he asks rhetorically, "Sex has a very distinct smell."

"Derek-"

"I just hope you two were safe, because really, what's that dude? Twenty? And I swear to God if he hurt you he's dead. He should be dead either way."

"He's twenty four." Marah cuts him off. "And I'm fine, and you're going to keep your mouth shut."

"Of course I am." His answer surprises her.

"Why?"

"Because you're my sister, and you're nineteen. And you make your own choices. It's my job to warn you, and to inform you at how creepy this is and how much I'm enjoying making you uncomfortable."

"I'm glad this is fun for you."

"Thanks, much appreciated. Anyways, just, don't screw up, or get yourself hurt. I still care about ya kid." Marah sits on her bed now, starring at her older brother as he gets up. "As long as you don't end up getting pregnant anytime soon, or get some weird disease."

"Aren't military men supposed to be like, mature and strict?" Marah teases him, and Derek shrugs.

"I'm a rebel, sue me."

* * *

**Holy Moses that's a long one. I love it though, hope you loved it too! Thanks to all the reviews and favorites and follows and all that fun jazz. I love feedback, every response is like a tiny ray of sunshine on a cloudy day, and wow that was cheesy. I should probably like, do economics homework now. So, thanks again! Hope to update soon!**


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

* * *

**Song: Just a Dream by Carrie Underwood**

* * *

May 2nd 2008

* * *

Marah sat alone in her house, sipping at the cup of coffee that sat in front of her. At twenty-four years old, she lives alone, having moved out four years ago. Her cold fingers stay wrapped around the warm mug, trying to steal some of it's heat as she watches the colors flash across the television screen without really watching. She's had a bad feeling for the past few days she just couldn't shake.

An all too familiar rumbling catches her attention, and she leaps up from her chair, barely catching it before it could topple over onto the tile floor. Seconds later, she iss throwing open the front door, only to freeze instantly.

The tall dark haired young man is one who she has only seen pictures of before now. His facial features, and abnormal height give him away. Involuntary tears starting to roll down her face.

"Sam?" She asks, her voice cracking, and she hopes for some reason, maybe he'll say no. Because if Sam Winchester is alone at her house, something bad has to have happened.

Sam swallows the lump in his throat, wondering again why he came, why he drove three hours just to see this girl that, before now, he'd only heard of from his brother. She was nothing he expected her to be. Wasn't curvy, didn't dress like a slut, wasn't older. She was just a girl. An innocent looking girl who he thought Dean had made up.

He nods though, against both of their hopes. "Dean…." She trails off, leaving the question there between them. Marah doesn't want him to say anything, to confirm what the twist in her gut is telling her.

"Marah, there was-" Sam stops talking when she puts up a hand. It goes to cover her mouth a second later, a sob racking through her body as she sinks down on the front steps of her house. Her long hair covering her face.

She feels like an anchor has just been dropped on her chest. She's sinking down, her world falling apart around her as her worst nightmare comes true. _He's gone_. It's all her mind can comprehend, and to her it doesn't matter why, or how he died. Just the essence of being gone forever.

Her whole body shakes with her sobbing, her face in her hands as she continues shaking her head.

Marah is startled at first, when Sam wraps his arms around her, but then latches onto him, crying into his chest as he holds her still. Her hands fisting together around his shirt, needing something to hold onto. She loud, repeating Dean's name over and over again, calling for him. As if she can call him back from the dead. If it wasn't already broken, the sight would make Sam's heart break.

But he just strokes the top of her head, unknowing that that's exactly what his older brother would do when she was crying, and her sobs get worse.

"_Just don't turn into some crazy freakin' cat lady while I'm gone, capiche?" _His last words to her rush through her mind, only making her feel worse.

Because she just wants _Dean_. Her Dean. The one that kept through with his promise to visit her more often. The one who got angry when he found out he was her first time. The one who's picture sits on her bedside table. The one that liked to take pictures with his phone during and after sex. The one who cropped one of those photos, of them two of them, his forehead against hers, and made it a birthday gift. The one who liked his coffee black. The one who laughed when she burned the pie the year he was with her on his birthday. The one who saved lives.

* * *

Sam stays silent the whole drive out to the woods. Marah sits in the backseat of the Impala, Dean's head in her lap, running a hand through his hair continuously. She keeps humming 'Hey, Jude' over and over again, never stopping.

She had helped Sam clean his body up, after he showed it to her. Cleaned off the blood, closed what they could with stitches. Because, as she put it; he deserved that. He's not broken. Sam was surprised she knew so much. About hunting. About the supernatural. About helping people.

He risks a glance in the rearview mirror, seeing her eyes still locked on his lifeless brother.

"Happy birthday Sam." She whispers, and he barely catches it over the roar of the Impala's engine. He manages a small, grim smile.

"Thanks Marah." He says sincerely. Though it's the worst birthday in the history of the planet. He wonders briefly how she knew, and asks her.

"You're his little brother," she says softly, still holding back more tears, "He told me all about you." Sam doesn't ask her any more questions.

* * *

Bobby meets them at the burial sight. Wooden box in the back of his truck. He embraces Sam when they meet, and hugs Marah gently. She looks like she's falling apart as her world falls around her.

In her mind, she's already pulling away. Sinking further and further away in her grief as the reality of Dean being gone starts to sink in even more.

The men dig, and Marah sits a few feet away, Dean's corpse in her arms. She keeps humming, running a hand over his face, not daring to look again at the shredded flesh that was his chest. It makes it too real for her.

Hellhounds. That's what Sam had told her. Dean had sold his soul to bring Sam back to life.

She hadn't been surprised at all.

"That her?" Bobby asks Sam as they dig, his head jerking to the side to motion to Marah.

"Yeah." Sam wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

"Kinda young ain't she? Maybe younger than you." Bobby shakes his head, pulling his baseball cap down tighter again. A ghost of a smile plays across the older mans face, "You're brother sure knew how to pick'em."

"I'm bringing him back, Bobby." Sam states harshly, the two having had this argument several times already. Bobby had been the first one Sam called.

"No you ain't! There ain't any way you're gunna bring'em back boy!" Bobby's voice rises, and he glances to Marah, though her gaze stays on Dean's face, not even hearing the conversation. "Dean's in _Hell_. You can't go after mojo that big and not get yourself killed!"

"Watch me." Sam spits out, and silence settles between them.

An hour later, Marah stands, Dean's amulet held tightly in her hands, as Sam and Bobby lower him into the pine box. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and she runs the back of her hand over her eyes, wiping away the tears. She thought she'd be out of tears by now, but has to tighten her jaw to keep another river away.

Dean's face is ashen, his chest torn to shreds, a bone visible in his right arm. She can't get the smell of his blood out of her nose. It's forever etched into her mind.

Sam and Bobby don't say any words, allowing Marah one last goodbye before they bury Dean Winchester.

They give her a few feet of space, both unable to keep their eyes off of her as she crouches down, running her hand over his face again, gently, as though not to wake him up.

"I love you." She whispers the words she never said aloud. Words that neither of them had ever said. Marah leans forwards, pressing her lips one last time to his, only to find them cold. Memories of all he could do with his lips rush through her brain, and she shuts them out in the next second. She doesn't want to think about what she's lost. What she'll never get back.

Marah looks down at her right hand, sliding the ring from her finger and opening one of Dean's hands. She slips the ring onto his palm, closing his fingers around it. "You're gunna come and give that back to me." She whispers, "You promised me that." She backs away then, turning to see Sam has tears going down his face, and Bobby's eyes are watery. She nods, backing up a few steps, and then watches as they lower the pine box six feet under.

The floodgates come again, sobs tearing up her throat to the point of pain, and her body convulses as she cries. Marah's never known pain like this.

She doesn't try to hide it, hugging herself, not covering her mouth as she sobs openly. The golden amulet digging into the palm of her hand as she clutches it tightly in her fist.

A small wooden cross is the only thing that marks Dean's burial site. Marah wants to tear it down. It there was a God, she thinks, He wouldn't let Dean die.

* * *

A week after Dean's death, Marah sits on the couch in Bobby Singer's living room, starring blankly out the window overlooking the salvage yard. Both Sam and Bobby had agreed leaving her alone right now wouldn't be for the best, so they brought her back to Bobby's, saying it was only until she got back on her feet. A day, two at the most.

But she hasn't said a word. Marah remains quiet, the only sounds she makes is when she starts sobbing. Just when she can't think she can cry any more, her body finds more tears. It is an improvement though, her actually being downstairs. Not locked upstairs in Dean's room, starring blankly at a picture of him Bobby had.

It hadn't been much, taken a few years ago. She guessed it had been taken a year or two after she met him.

She doesn't really listen though when Sam or Bobby try talking to her, doesn't acknowledge that they're there usually.

There is now a nationwide missing person's alert out for her. The red flag having gone up when she didn't come into work. A friend went to check on her at home, only to find it empty, the door unlocked. No note, no returned phone calls. Nothing.

She sits and does nothing, while Sam does what Sam does best. Research. Sometimes, he'll catch her watching him, as he's huddled over the laptop screen, eyes skimming page after page. Endlessly for hours on end.

Bobby's not much better. He drinks the pain away, shares his liquor with Sam.

Marah recognizes the house from pictures Dean would send her. The kitchen, the study, the living room. Even one of the rusted pickups bashed up on the front lawn. She's seen them all in photographs.

After ten days of her phone endlessly ringing, Marah snaps it in half. It's her biggest action since Dean's death other than eating. It surprises Bobby, but Sam barely gives her a second glance.

One month after, Bobby's the one trying to get her to talk again. Most of the hunting community has heard of Dean's death by now, and called with their condolences. Bobby sits across from her at the table in his kitchen, trying to coax some kind of answer out of her. It only takes a few days for the awkwardness of Bobby talking to her to go away.

"He wouldn't want you to be like this." He tries, though her eyes continue to just stare down at the table, her hands ringing together. "And he'll come back and haunt my ass if I don't get ya outta whatever you're in." He gets a ghost of a smile, a small tug at the corner of her mouth, only for it to disappear moments later. "That boy cared about you. Gave me your address, said if the shit ever hit the fan, that he wanted you safe."

Five weeks of no speaking, no interaction. Bobby and Sam have practically given up on her. Marah sits in her own mind, deeply retreated in the midst of memories and grief. She relives her moments with Dean over and over again, not wanting to stop thinking about him, because she doesn't want to _forget_ anything.

The way he laughed. The way he smirked. The way he spoke. The way he smelled. The way he kissed her.

She doesn't want to lose any of it.

She just wants this living nightmare to be over. She wants to wake up in her bed, look over and see Dean beside her. She wants to feel his arms around her, his warm breath on her neck. She wants to hear him laugh, see his smile, and feel his heartbeat in his chest.

But she can't wake up. Because this isn't a nightmare, this isn't just a dream, it's actually happening.

Marah doesn't really comprehend the events around her. Doesn't really notice when a large black woman comes into Bobby's home, sitting down on the couch next to her. Calling her 'darling' and placing a soft hand on her knee.

Sam watches from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. His own grief having turned to anger, resulting in vengeance and long trips off by himself, trying to find a way to bring his brother back. So far, nothing has worked.

If it weren't for Marah, he wouldn't even come back to Bobby's.

"She's not here." Missouri tells Bobby sadly. "Poor girl's deep in her own head. Thinking of that boy." She leaves out how she only stayed in her head for a moment, overcome with such an intense feeling of pain and loss.

"She shouldn't be this torn up about it." Sam spits out, two weeks after Missouri's visit. "She didn't even know him."

"Shut up." Her voice is hoarse, and the words scratch up her throat due from lack of use for so long. Bobby's head snaps in her direction, Sam's eyebrows rising.

"Sam." Bobby's tone is warning, knowing Sam enough to anticipate his lashing out, but the remaining Winchester ignores him.

"No, I'm sick and tired of her shit! She didn't know Dean!"

"I didn't leave him." She tells him, still starring out the window. "I was there when he needed me."

"So was I!" Sam's yelling now, and Bobby doesn't know how to handle this. Marah finally looks up, glaring at Sam. Fire in her brown eyes.

"Ditching him to go off to Stanford doesn't count as leaving? Never thinking how the fights with John made _him _feel, that's being there when he needed you?" Sam's jaw clenches at her works, the muscle visibly tensing.

"You don't know-" Sam started, his voice threatening, but she pushed herself to her feet, her voice rising and cutting him off.

"Shut up Sam!" she shouts, her voice cracking before she turns, stalking outside, slamming the front door shut behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed this story so far! **_ , SassyGrl23, Chandler Bing, ncsupnatfan, bjq, athlusa, Imou, crystaltonics, and all the guests! _**It really means a lot!**

* * *

_Chapter Five: Who You'd Be Today_

* * *

**Song: Who You'd Be Today by Kenny Chesney**

* * *

At the three-month mark anniversary of Dean's death, Marah is starting to get better. Not in the general definition of the term 'better', but in Bobby Singer's standards. Maybe even by Sam's standards, but the youngest Winchester hasn't been seen or heard from by anyone in the past month.

Marah didn't wake up screaming bloody murder each night anymore. She spoke sometimes, when Bobby asked her a question directly. She cleaned all the guns on the property. Sharpened all the knives. Hell, she even went into town every few weeks to pick up supplies for Bobby.

So yes, by Singer standards, she was doing better. But there still was the drinking.

Her mindset had changed from full on dedication to not ever wanting to forget Dean, to not wanting to think of him, so that maybe, just for a little bit, the pain would go away. She had turned to the bottle to try and accomplish that mission.

Bobby gave up snatching the bottles away from her a few weeks into the newly formed habit. She had accused him of being a hypocrite, glancing pointedly at the empty liquor bottles that had lined the kitchen surfaces at the time.

Most days, Bobby would walk up behind her, place a hand on her shoulder gently and ask if she was okay. Sometimes she's say 'yes' out loud, mostly just a nod of her head.

"Normal person okay? Or Winchester-okay?" He'd follow up with, and a grin would tug at the end of her lips, and she'd shrug, never answering the question outright.

Marah hates the sunny days. Those are the worst for her, when the world doesn't join in her mourning for a life lost too soon. When the sky cries along with her, she feels as though she fits in.

Back in Stillwater, her family gets the same news every single day. No sign of Marah Bradshaw anywhere. No one has seen her, no one has heard from her.

They're starting to think that she's dead.

That is, until Marah finally picks up a payphone and calls Taylor Chapman. Her best friend since high school, they had kept contact with each other, even after graduation, when Taylor went off to college, and Marah moved out of town.

The blonde haired girl answers her cell phone just after the third ring, just before Marah decides this is stupid and she shouldn't have called.

"Hello?" Taylor's voice comes through the receiver, and Marah takes a deep breath, knowing her voice will be hoarse from not speaking.

"Hey Taylor." She says softly, and there's silence at the other end of the line. "Taylor?" Marah asks again after a minute, resting a hand on the inside of the payphone booth. She glances over at the truck she borrowed from Bobby, wishing for the hundredth time Sam hadn't taken the Impala.

"M-Marah? Oh _God, _is that you?" Taylor's voice is one of total disbelief, and Marah can hear that she's choking up, holding back tears.

"Yeah." She almost laughs, but it doesn't quite get out.

"Where are you? Are you okay? We've all been worried sick for the past three months, you-"

"Taylor." Marah cuts her off.

"You're hurt, God you sound terrible, where are you?!" Panic is in her voice, and Marah shakes her head, and then remembers she has to use her words.

"N-no. I'm." she stops, taking a breath. "I'm not okay. But, I'm not telling you where I am."

"Did you get kidnapped?" Taylor's voice is a whisper, and it's such an insane prospect to Marah, that she actually grins.

"No, Taylor, I wasn't kidnapped. I left. I just, wanted to tell you I'm safe." Marah explains.

"But you're not okay?"

"No, I'm-" tears start to roll down Marah's face and she pauses to sniffle and wipe them away, "I'm far from okay. That's why I left. Just, tell them to stop lookin' for me? I don't wanna be found." Marah can hear Taylor's breathing on the other end.

"You can't ask that of me Marah, you're family's been worried sick."

"_Please_. I called you because I know you'll respect what I'm asking."

"You sound sick." Taylor says suddenly, finally placing what sounds off, "Are you dying? Is it cancer?" Marah actually lets out a small chuckle. Taylor always assumed the worst.

"No, I-I don't have cancer, or-" _any illness_ doesn't escape her mouth, because this is an illness. Depression, loss, a broken heart. She thinks it's an illness. "You remember that night, a few weeks after graduation, when I told you about…" she trails off.

"Dean?" Taylor asks, remembering the confession Marah had told her that night, after only a few years of knowing Dean, a week after she first slept with him. Taylor didn't know he was a hunter, but she knew their story. Hearing him name makes Marah's heart sink.

"Yeah, him." She whispers, the pain coming back as though it happened just yesterday.

"Did he, did he hurt you?" Taylor asks. A sob escapes Marah's mouth as she shakes her head.

"No, hell no, he'd never." She has to pause to take a breath. "He, he died Tay." Marah hasn't ever said it aloud until now, and it hurts more than she ever thought. "He's gone."

"Oh, Marah." Taylor's voice is full of sympathy Marah doesn't want. "I'm so sorry, I don't-"

"Don't tell my parents, or anyone, you _can't _tell anyone." Marah tells her through tears, her hand clenched in a fist against the cool glass. "I just need time. Just tell'em I'm safe."

"Where are you staying? You shouldn't, you shouldn't be alone right now."

"I'm not." Is all Marah says, thinking of the man who has become like family to her. "I, I gotta go." She tells Taylor, knowing Bobby will get worried soon if she's not back. "Promise you won't look for me, I, I'll come back. Someday."

"I can't-"

"Promise me Taylor, _please_."

"I promise." Taylor concedes. "I'll tell your family you're safe."

"Thank you."

"You call me again though, you hear me?"

"Mmm" Marah just hums back, "Bye Tay."

"Love you Marah, miss ya." Marah just hangs up the receiver then, not replying. She stands there for a moment, her head dropping forward so it rests against the cool glass. She takes a few steadying breaths, before standing back up, and walking back to the truck, hugging the oversized flannel shirt closer to her body.

* * *

September 18th, 2008

* * *

That second Monday is September is one of Marah's bad days. Just one bad day in a bad week.

It had begun a week earlier, with her having one of her good dreams. A dream, a fantasy in which Dean was alive. He was alive, and well, and breathing, and safe.

She hated the good dreams, they were worse than the bad. Worse than seeing him tortured and killed, whipped and sliced into pieces. Because at least with the bad dreams, once he died and she woke up, he was still dead. He didn't die all over again when she woke up. She didn't reach across the covers, only to find it cold and empty on the other side of the bed. Didn't find herself in Bobby's house instead of her own.

Things didn't change when she woke up from a nightmare.

The good dreams were the ones that Bobby couldn't protect her from. He couldn't hear her silently wake up, couldn't hear her curl into herself and silently sob. Those were the days she didn't come downstairs, didn't eat anything, didn't speak.

At least with the nightmares, Bobby could shake her awake once she started screaming.

It was the ninth day in a row that she wasn't speaking again, that Marah was shut upstairs in that room, starring blankly ahead. Bobby had actually thought she was getting better. _Really _better.

She had even started cooking some meals. They had a conversation a few weeks ago. Talked about her family back home. He had even taken her out back for some target practice.

So when she hit the wall again, it hit Bobby Singer hard as well. He thought of her like he did the boys now, a kid who he protected, like his own child.

Marah lies curled in on herself on the bed upstairs, her small frame swimming in one of Dean's old sweatshirts. His amulet hangs around her neck, and she twists it over and over again between her thumb and forefinger.

She can hear Bobby yelling at someone into the phone downstairs, a moment later the receiver is slammed back into place. She wonders briefly what's gone on downstairs, but quickly decides she doesn't really care. Her grief swallowing her again, she closes her eyes, the tune of 'Hey, Jude' filling the room as she hums.

She can almost pretend he's there when she closes her eyes. That Dean's right in front of her, and at any moment, he'll start to sing along. She loved it when he sang. She loved his obnoxious belting out of lyrics in the Impala, she really did, but she loved it when he actually sang for real even more. When Dean Winchester truly sang, she thought it was one of the most beautiful sounds in the world.

When he sang just to her, it made her feel like an angel.

But his husky voice doesn't join in. And it's just another sharp reminder that he's gone.

Marah holds his sweatshirt tighter around herself; in a vain attempt to fight off the chill that stems from her heart.

* * *

"Dean?!" Bobby asks; his eyes locked on where Dean just sliced his own arm with a silver knife. He didn't believe it at first when he showed up at the door. But now?

"That's what I've been trying to tell you." Dean sighs, a grin spreading on his face. Bobby breaks then, grabbing the eldest Winchester and pulling in him for a tight hug. Dean embraces him back tightly for a moment before they pull apart.

"It's…It's good to see you, boy."

"Yeah, you too."

"But…how did you bust out?" Bobby asks skeptically.

"I don't know. I just, uh, woke up in a pine box…" Bobby suddenly splashes holy water in Dean's face. Dean pauses, and spits. "I'm not a demon either, you know."

"Sorry." Bobby shrugs, "Can't be too careful." They turn and go further into the house, Dean wiping his face with a towel. "But…that don't make a lick of sense."

"You're preachin' to the choir."

"Dean. Your chest was ribbons. Your insides were slop. And you've been buried _four months_. Even if you could slip out of hell and back into your meat suit-"

"I know, I should look like a Thriller video reject."

"What do you remember?" Bobby asks.

"Not much. I remember I was a Hellhound's chew toy, and then…lights out. Next thing I woke up six feet under, that was it." Bobby sits down at the kitchen table, and Dean glances around, noting the place is cleaner than usual. "Sam's number's not working. He's uh…he's not…"

"Oh, he's alive. As far as we know."

"Good….wait, what do you mean as far as _we _know?"

"I haven't talked to him for months."

"You're kidding, you just let him go?"

"He just left one night."

"You should've been looking after him."

"I tried." Bobby deadpans, "These last few months haven't been exactly easy, you know. For any of us. We buried you, Dean." Dean's face softens and Bobby sighs. "By the way boy, there's someone who's been missing you more than anything upstairs." Dean's eyebrows go together.

"Who?"

"Little girlfriend of yours." Dean's eyes widen, "She's been here since day you died."

* * *

The footsteps outside her door barely register in Marah's mind. She stays curled in on herself, arms wrapped around her stomach, humming over and over again.

Dean eases the door open slowly, and has to swallow the lump in his throat at the sight of her. She looks smaller than ever, and he hates how she's hurting. Her back is to him, as she stares out the window, looking out over the salvage yard behind Bobby's house.

His old sweatshirt almost makes her disappear, and Dean walks forwards quietly, his hand finding the ring in his pocket.

Marah feels the edge of the bed dip down, and she just wants Bobby to leave her alone right now.

Tears fill Dean's eyes as the song registers in his mind. He reaches a hand out slowly, gently resting it on her shoulder. She stops humming, and slowly turns over until she sees him.

Marah's breath hitches, and her eyes widen when she sees Dean sitting on the bed. His blonde hair up just like it always was, dirt on his face and t-shirt, and his eyes the same bright green.

Marah scrambles up, backing away from him. "No." she whispers, thinking how sick of a joke God must be playing on her. "_No_." she shakes her head, and Dean's hand falls to the bed comforter.

"Marah." He calls out to her, and she freezes again. "It's me." He holds his hands out, as if to show her.

"Dean?" she breathes, tears going down her face. He nods slowly, and she takes a step towards him, sitting on the bed again and reaching a hand up slowly. He doesn't move as it rests on the side of his face, her thumb running across his jawline.

He feels so real, so solid beneath her touch. But she's heard his voice before. In her mind, it was never real then. But this? She thinks that maybe, maybe he's real this time.

Dean brings his hand up, covering her own on his face, running his thumb over the back of her hand. His hand is smooth along hers, and she notices the lack of scars. "Dean." She says it again, and he smirks at her.

"Hey." Marah launches herself at him, her arms locking tightly around his neck as she cries into his chest. Dean's arm instantly wind around her small frame, holding her close as he buries his face in her hair. "Shhhh." He soothes, kissing the top of her head and running his hand up and down her back.

He can feel her shake her head, and Dean looks up when the floorboards squeak, to see Bobby looking in. Dean just smiles and Bobby nods solemnly, walking away silently.

"Shhhh it's okay. Everything's okay, Marah." She pulls back from Dean, resting her hands on the sides of his face, a smile on her face for the first time in what feels like forever.

"It is now." She says, resting her forehead against Dean's as he laughs. "Don't you _ever_ leave me again." She whispers it harshly. "Never again." Marah kisses him before he can reply.

It's soft and sweet, and they don't try and make it anything more. Tears keep running down her face, and Dean wipes them away once they pull apart.

"I sewed you back together," she whispers to him, and closes her eyes. "Sam and I cleaned you up and sewed you back together…I…I couldn't get your blood off my hands for days. I scrubbed them raw." She stops talking when a sob rips up her throat, and Dean brings her back into his chest, his hand running over her dark hair.

"Shhh, you don't need to talk about it." He soothes, and feels her nod against him. "I'm here now."

They stay like that for almost an hour. Just holding each other, not saying a word. Every few minutes, Marah will pull away and look up at Dean's face, just to make sure he's really there. She doesn't ask what happened to him, and he doesn't ask what she's been going through.

Dean likes that he can fix her pain. It's something that he has control over, only him for now.

Finally, she looks up at him, kissing him softly again, Dean leaning in towards her more. His hand coming up to rest on the side of her face, before she pulls back. "You must be starving." She smiles sweetly at him, and Dean didn't know how much he missed that smile until now. Dean shrugs, and it takes all of Marah's willpower to pull away from him completely, and stand up from the bed. "Come on," she says, holding out her hand to him, "I can make something." Dean let's her pull him up, though pulls her close a moment later, her hands on his chest. He brings a hand up, lifting his amulet slightly from where it hangs around her neck.

Dean grins at her, digging into his pocket and taking out Mary's ring. "When I woke up, this was in my hand." He tells her, taking one of her hands in his other one, "I guess I have to give it back." He smiles softly down at her, slipping the ring onto her right hand. Dean brings his lips down to meet hers for a moment before pulling away, his hand going up to wipe a stray tear off her face.

"I told you you'd have to come give it back to me." She whispers, and Dean smiles down at her, running a hand through her hair.

"Hey, you can be a real bitch when I don't listen." She barks out a laugh, making Dean's smile widen, and she slaps her hand against his chest.

"You're impossible!" she giggles, and Dean's arms tighten around her.

Downstairs, Bobby can hear the two of them. Laughter is a noise that hasn't filled the Singer household in years. Though now, it bounces off the walls, floating down from upstairs and bringing a grin to the old hunter's face. He can't believe the immediate different in Marah in the few hours Dean has been back. He hasn't even seen the girl, but he's heard her talking, heard her laughing. Hell, Bobby heard _Dean_ laughing. Really laughing. Bobby Singer doesn't know a lot about how to know when to keep a girl around, but if Marah can get Dean to laugh like that?

He sure hopes that boy doesn't let her go.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows, and favorites! They mean a lot to me!**

**Warning: Violence/Abuse in this chapter**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural**

* * *

_Chapter Six_

* * *

**Song: Castle of Glass-Linkin Park**

* * *

2011

* * *

_"Just know she's safe"_ they were the words Marah's parents held on to every day. Knowing, or at least hoping, that their youngest daughter was safe, wherever that was. It gave them peace, a little at least, to know she wasn't in any danger.

* * *

Her head snapped to the side on impact, pain ripping through the left side of her face as the sound of her neck cracking echoed off the walls. She felt hot blood slowly drip from her nose, down her face, and her arms tugged again against the shackles that were wrapped around her, holding her tight to the metal chair.

"Come on now," Marah said slowly in disbelief, as she narrowed her eyes at the demon in front of her, "My _sister's_ hit me harder than _that_." She spits her words out, hatred and fear battling together inside her.

Chains bound her to the cold chair, her ankles and wrists bound down, even strapped across her chest. She could see the blood soaking through her black shirt from a gash in her side, and she was positive her ankle was broken.

It was definitely the last time she was going to talk Dean into the idea that she'd be fine by herself in a motel for a few days as he and Sam went out to check on some information a few states over. Dean had been so dead set on just dropping her off at Bobby's, or taking her with them, only for all of them to have to drive back.

It'd been cheaper for her to just stay though, not having to give up the motel room, and just wait for the boys to return. Besides, she could keep an eye on their witnesses this way. It had still taken a lot to get him to agree.

Marah just hadn't expected a demon to come and break down the door, demanding to know where the Winchesters were, and take her hostage. _No_, she thought again, she hadn't planned on that one at all.

"Where. Are. They?" the demon demands again. His brown eyes narrowing, black hair falling just past his shoulders.

"No clue, Ozzy Osborne." Marah quips. The days of being the quiet, slightly shy girl have disappeared in the past two years. It's something she learned from Sam, and Bobby, and Dean. Be yourself, voice your opinions, and be bloody confident about it all. She may have picked up the classic rock referencing habit from Dean though.

The demon's fist collides with her face again, right on her cheekbone, and Marah grits her teeth, holding in the scream that she feels come up her throat. If she gets out alive, she's gunna have one hell of a black eye to show off.

She lets her head hang down limply for a few seconds, taking in deep breaths and trying to focus on keeping herself calm. _'You gotta keep your wits kid'_ she can practically hear Bobby Singer's voice.

"Stop lying to me, you bitch!" the demon shouts, brandishing a serrated knife.

The room she's in is dark, and Marah can only guess it's a basement of some sort. How far away from the motel she was in? She's not entirely sure. She was knocked unconscious and then woke up here later. She did get a few shots in before she was overpowered though, she smirks at the thought, Dean would be proud.

The metal is cool against her hot, sweat covered skin, and she keeps her eyes locked on the demon. "Now," he whispers darkly, pressing the blade into her arm a little more, drawing out a trickle of blood. "Where are the Winchesters?"

"Go to Hell." Marah quips back, her eyes screwing shut in pain when the blade digs deeper into her arm. He grins at her, dragging the knife downwards, cutting through muscle, and Marah lets out a scream, her head jerking backwards as she tries to get away. Her whole body tugs against the restraints, her back arching off the metal, and the chains just dig into her, the rubbing on her side causing the wound to reopen.

She can smell her own blood, and she doesn't know which is worse. Smelling someone else's, or smelling your own. Satisfied, the demon pulls the blade out of her, standing back up to full height, a smile on his face as he smiles sadistically down at her.

Marah's chest heaves up and down as she tries to get her breathing back to normal. "I'll let you think it over, see if anything comes back to you." He tells her, leaning closer to her again, his hot breath on her face makes her grimace in disgust. "I'll just leave this," he looks down at the knife in his hand, and then his smile grows, "Right here." Her head slams backwards again, her teeth gritting together as he slams the blade into her thigh. Marah doesn't hear him leave the room, or even see him leave, her eyes are screwed shut and she can only focus on how much it _fucking_ _hurts_.

But when the metal door slams closed, and the lights go off, a new surge of panic runs through her veins. She feels as though the walls are closing in on her, the space getting smaller and smaller and she just wants to get. out.

Her breathing becomes more rapid, and her muscles tense up, causing more pain to shoot through her body from her thigh. _Calm down_. She thinks to herself. She knows she needs to calm down. Marah closes her eyes, and brings a picture of Dean's face to the forefront of her mind. Trying to picture him exactly.

He and Sam will find her. They have to. They'll return to the motel, and then they'll find her. Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine.

Marah wonders what it feels like to die.

* * *

"_Dean!_" his name is the one she screams out when she's in trouble, though right now, he can't hear her. Because, she doesn't know it, but he can't _find _her.

It's only been four days, but it feels like a lifetime to Marah. Open wounds line her body, and her blood is dried to her skin and clothes, or what's left of her clothes. She can taste it in her mouth, see it stained on the cement floor. If she wasn't used to stitching up the plethora of injuries Sam and Dean came back with, she would've thrown up a hundred times by now.

"I really hate your loyalty to those boys." The demon shakes his head at her, his knife against the side of her face, slowly dragging it down, watching her blood stream down the side of her face, down her chin and neck before pooling atop her collar bone. She's lost weight. A lot of it.

Marah's figured out more though. There is more than one demon, five if she's heard correctly. She's only seen three of them, but two guard the building. This one, Rahab, is just the one who tortures her. He's supposed to be good at his job, though she hasn't told them anything.

"It's fine though," he sneers, "Once they realize they can't find you, well, self-sacrifice is the Winchester-way." Rahab repositions the blade so the tip rests right below her left breast. Her body stiffens, and Marah clenches her jaw as he cuts across her chest, just piercing through the skin enough to make it agonizing. "Or," he shrugs, leaning down so his face is inches from hers, "You could just tell me where they are? They'd have a fighting chance then." He sneers at her, and Marah glares up at him, the effort to just stay conscious taking a toll on her.

When she spits in his face, she can see the blood there. The hilt of his knife is driven into her temple a millisecond later, and she goes limp.

* * *

"Hey, hey!" The words sound like they're miles away and Marah is only slightly aware that someone is touching her face. Large hands hold it upright, slapping her cheeks gently. "Marah, come on, Marah!" Panic. She can hear the panic in the deep voice, and somewhere inside herself, she finds the strength to open her eyes.

Her vision is blurry, and the room feels like it's spinning. Her brown eyes do not focus on anything, but she can make out the big eyes and long hair.

"Sam?" Marah doesn't recognize her own hoarse voice as his name comes out. A grin pulls at one end of her mouth.

"Yeah, come on though, stay awake." He's pleading, and one of his hands leaves her face to fumble with the chains. "Dean!" he shouts, looking back over his shoulder. "_Dean_!"

Marah stares blankly ahead, not really seeing anything at all, her mind a void that struggles to make a coherent thought. "Sam." She repeats his name unknowingly.

"We're gunna get you outta here."

"Dean?" she asks then, just as he rushes into the room. Dean Winchester looks terrible. Dark circles are prominent underneath his eyes, his hair unkempt and his clothes dirty. He hasn't changed in days. Hasn't gotten more than three hours of sleep at a time in the past eight days. Blood from the demons he and Sam just killed stain his clothes, and he rushes forwards when he sees Marah bound to the chair, his younger brother working to get the heavy chains off. Marah doesn't see him, just another shape than spins out of control, and her eyes roll.

Her breathing gets shallower, and Dean is on his knees in front of her, holding her face in his hands as Sam works to get her free. As the chains come off, he has to pull them out of her skin where they have become embedded due to dried blood and how long they were there. The sight and sound of ripping flesh makes Sam gag.

"Marah, come on babe, it's me. It's Dean, stay with me. Don't you dare pass out on me." Dean's eyes search her face frantically. Taking in every cut, every bruise.

The heavy chains fall from her wrists to the floor, and Dean takes one of her hands in his own. Her skin is cool and clammy, and he runs his thumb over the back of her hand. "She needs a hospital." Dean breathes, and Sam only makes a noise of agreement, removing the last of the chains and throwing them to the floor. Slowly, Dean repositions himself to help her stand. Though when he lifts her up slightly off the chair, her body goes limp in his arms, head lolling to the side.

* * *

She had barely said a word to either of the Winchesters since waking up in the hospital. Eighty-three stitches, twenty-six staples, four different types of antibiotics, and three weeks in the ICU later, she was signed out. The doctors had protested, saying she should stay longer until her staples could be removed, but she had shaken her head.

In the hallway outside, the doctors had told Dean they wanted to monitor her mental state. Dean had been outraged, screaming at them that she was going to be fine; there wasn't anything wrong with her. She'd only had a concussion after all. Sam had had to drag him outside to calm down, politely apologizing for his older brother's behavior and declining their advice that Marah stay longer.

Now, she made her way slowly up the steps of Rufus's cabin, Dean reaching out to help as she swayed on her crutches slightly. Her ankle had been broken, and she'd be off her left foot for the next five months. Marah doesn't say anything as Dean's hand rests protectively over the small of her back. He shoots a glance to Sam, who stands holding the door open for her, two duffle bags slung over his shoulder.

"I can do it myself." She whispers harshly, Dean's eyes widening at her words. His jaw setting a moment later, he lifts his hand so it just hovers over her back, still ready to help her if she wobbles again.

Once inside, Sam and Dean toss the bags onto the floor, glancing at each other briefly as Marah makes her way towards the room she shares with Dean whenever they come to the cabin.

"Go talk to her." Sam whispers, making Dean shoot him a desperate look.

"You go talk to her." He shoots back. And Sam's jaw drops in disbelief.

"_Dude_, she's _your_ girlfriend!"

"She's _your_ best friend!" Dean's words are true. Ever since Sammy got his soul back, he and Marah have become best friends. They do research together, they play card games together, they prank Dean together.

Dean holds out his fist, Sam rolling his eyes before doing the same. Wordlessly, they do rock, paper, scissors, and Dean's lips purse together as Sam crushes his scissors once again. Sam only raises his eyebrows in response, his eyes widening and jerks his chin in the direction Marah had gone to tell Dean to go.

He does, his footsteps echoing against the cabin floor, stopping in the doorway to their room. "Whatcha doing babe?" Dean asks, watching her crutches underneath her armpits as she opens one of the dresser drawers.

Marah looks up at him, her dark hair hanging over one side of her face slightly. Some of the bruises are still there, and she hasn't put all of her weight back on yet. Dark circles hang underneath her eyes, and the light he can usually always find in her eyes in missing.

The most Dean's got out of her since she woke up two weeks ago is the half smile when she first saw him. Even now, she doesn't even grin, just nods towards the bathroom.

"Are you sure?" he asks gently, "Doc said you might need some help the first-"

"I can take a fucking shower by myself." She cuts him off, and Dean's lips purse together as he puts him hands up.

"Fine. Just, be careful."

Marah scrubs her skin with the soap until it turns red. She balances on one foot, leaning up against the wall. She still feels disgusting, still feels like she has her own blood on her skin. She rubs harder, her nails scraping her own flesh.

Marah fights back tears as the scalding water beats against her skin. All the fear and anxiety finally making it's way to the surface since she's safe. Marah feels broken, violated, useless as she keeps scrubbing away. Tears roll down her face, mixing with the water from the showerhead, and she reaches over to grab another bar of soap as the first one disappears.

She takes a step forwards, forgetting in her mental breakdown about her ankle. She crashes to the ground, pain shooting up from her ankle and ribs as she lands against the wet shower floor.

Marah looks down at herself, the new scars covering almost every inch of her body. Yellow bruises along her sides.

Her hand shoots up to cover her mouth as she sobs, her whole body shaking, and she wraps her arms around her knees, burying her face in her hands.

She feels like she's been sitting underneath the water for hours when the curtain is pulled back.

"Marah." Dean's voice cracks, and he sits down beside her under the water, pulling her carefully into his lap, careful to avoid jarring her ankle. She continues sobbing, and Dean runs a hand over her back as his clothes soak through. "Shhhhhh." He soothes quietly. "You're okay. It's all gunna be okay." She clutches onto him like a vice, needing something to hold her together. "And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain." Dean sings to her, rocking back and forth gently, reaching up to shut off the shower. "Don't carry the world upon your shoulders for well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder."

* * *

Dean's arms were loose around her waist as he held Marah in his lap, his chin resting on her shoulder as they both looked up at the sky. The stars seemed to occupy every inch of the atmosphere above them, stretching on for miles and miles on end. On the cool, cloudless night, they looked perfect.

It had been three months since Dean and Sam rescued Marah from the demons.

The nightmares were the worst. For the first two months, Marah constantly woke up screaming. But Dean was always there to be calm her down. He didn't say anything, just wrapped his arms around her, pulling her face down against his chest, and hummed softly to her, running his hand over her hair.

She looked up at him now, a smile on her face. Dean smirks, leaning down to capture her lips with his.

That feeling warms his insides. The one that Dean Winchester never felt before. Just like the panic he had felt when he came back to the motel to find her gone. He hadn't known an emotion could be so concrete. But this feeling is different. It scares him, maybe more than the panic did, but that's only because he's Dean. Love'em and leave'em, that's who he was before. A glimpse, some flirting, some quick sex, and then he would be gone.

This feeling never left him though. Not when it came to Marah. When he teases her, when he makes her laugh, when he kisses her, when he loves her. It's always there.

He feels her tongue slide along his bottom lip. Usually, Dean would let her in, take control of the situation, and then end up having sex with her. It definitely wouldn't be the first time he took her hard and fast on the hood of the Impala, but right now, her ankle is still healing, and he doesn't want to risk her safety. Dean pulls away slowly, and can feel her frown.

"You ever regret coming with me?" Dean whispers, still not opening his eyes, her breath warm on his face. Marah doesn't even have to think of her response.

"Not once." His eyes open, and she smiles up at him, green orbs looking warmly down at her. "Not when Sam fell into the Pit, not when he didn't have his soul, not when Cas came in on us having sex." Dean chuckles, and her smile grows. "Not when I got shot, and definitely not three months ago."

"Sometimes I wonder if you just lie to me about that." He replies, shaking his head and breaking eye contact with her.

"Dean." His name brings his attention back to her face. She knows Dean doesn't do the whole 'let's share our feelings' thing, but she has learned how to coax him into it. Eye contact is essential, because if he can't see it in your eyes that you're telling the truth, he'll never fully believe you. "Remember what I told you, in that motel room nine years ago? About not wanting to stay in the same town forever."

"Vaguely." Dean admits.

"I'm happy Dean. Real happy, because I'm with you."

"How do you feel about me?" he asks.

"You know the answer to that." She grins. They've never said it aloud to each other. The three simple words. They were never necessary. Actions spoke louder than words between the two of them. Moments like this, when it was just the two of them. It was when she knew he loved her. Because why else would Dean Winchester skip out on a chance to watch crap TV and shove burgers into his mouth?

"I wanna hear you say it." He tells her, and Marah's eyes soften and she leans upwards again, pressing her lips to his cheek, the stubble that he's let grow in over the past few weeks rough under her lips.

"I love you." A lump makes it's way into her throat, as she remembers the last time she uttered those words. Right before she watched him be buried six feet under. "There isn't anyone else I'd rather be sittin' next to, or wake up with, or worry about." Dean kisses her now, slowly, and she lets him take her hands in his own, pulling away a minute later.

"Good." He chuckles, "I wanted to double check." His breath is warm against her ear as he rests his chin on her shoulder. Dean's hands move over Marah's slipping the silver ring off her right hand. "This has been bothering me for the past few months." He tells her, slipping Mary's old ring onto her left hand.

"Dean…" Marah's voice is barely a whisper. She's shocked really, and looks up at him slowly. "Is, is this your way of…" she trails off.

"I don't think we need any of that official crap to say we're married. Unless you want to like, go somewhere and tie the knot, I just thought, you know, with how-" she cuts off his nervous rambling with her lips. Dean makes a noise of surprise, but quickly catches up, just in time for her to pull away.

"No," she tells him, "You're perfect." Marah can't keep the smile off her face, and seeing her this happy makes Dean wonder why he didn't do this sooner. Sure, it doesn't mean much, hell, they won't even change the names on anything, given they both use aliases.

But it is a promise. To stay together, to work things out. A promise that she'll be there until the end.

"Till death do us part." Dean laughs, and Marah rolls her eyes at the irony.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks so much to _regular0reogirl, Sloane Raine, bjq, SilverShadowWolf46, wideawakepastmidnight, _and the _Guests _for reviewing last chapter! And to all those who favorited/followed it means a lot!**

* * *

_Chapter Seven_

* * *

**Song: Superheros – The Script**

* * *

**May 2012 – Highway 94**

* * *

Marah and Dean hadn't seen each other for the past month. Things had gotten hard, on all of them, after Bobby died. He had shut her out, wallowed in his own grief for a few days before Marah finally lost it.

She had screamed at Dean for almost an hour, tears streaming down her face. She knew he was hurting, and he wasn't helping by not letting her in.

_"You don't always have to try so hard."_ She had said, barely above a whisper after she'd finished yelling, her voice cracking. _"I get why you always act strong in front of Sam. But you don't have to with me, Dean. Just don't shut me out of this."_

That was the first night Marah held Dean as he cried. They didn't talk about that night, how he clutched to her like a vice, his head resting on her chest, tears darkening her shirt.

A few days later she had chosen to stay with Castiel after he took on Sam's hallucinations, to make sure he wasn't bothered. But now Cas was awake. They had a prophet and a demon in the backseat. And Marah was sitting on Dean's lap as Sam drove the Impala towards Rufus's cabin.

"Oh, God." Kevin Tran speaks up, and Marah glances in the rearview to see he's woken up.

"What?" Meg asks him curtly.

"Nothing…just my life…my future…" Marah's phone begins to ring, and she digs through her pockets to find it, Dean resting his chin on her shoulder. "…my mom's car." Kevin trails off, and Marah answers her phone.

"Marah! Is that you!?" Castiel's voice is panicked.

"Yeah. Castiel…it's me." She rolls her eyes.

"Cas? Where? Where is he?" Dean demands, reaching for her phone.

"Shut up." Marah tells him, leaning so he can't get her phone. Last thing Cas needs is to have Dean yelling at him.

"I'll stop speaking." Cas tells her.

"No." Marah sighs, "Not you, Cas. You talk."

"I'm in a place called Perth."

"Perth?" Marah asks.

"Like Australia?" Dean asks in disbelief, and Marah shrugs.

"Yes, Perth. And I'm surrounded by unhappy dogs." Marah sighs.

"He says he's surrounded by unhappy dogs."

"They're chasing a rabbit around and they won't stop barking and there're people…"

"He's at a dog track in Perth." Marah tells the rest of the car.

"I'm surrounded by large, unhappy dogs." Castiel tells her again.

"Cas, they're unhappy 'cause the rabbit's fake. Look, we're on highway 94, just north of St. Cloud Minnesota, just passing mile marker…" she glances out the window "seventy nine." Marah hangs up her phone as Castiel appears in the backseat between Kevin and Meg.

"Aaah!" Kevin shrieks.

"Kevin, meet Castiel." Meg introduces the two in her droning monotone voice.

"You're one of the angels?" Kevin asks in disbelief. Cas leans forwards, poking Kevin's nose with his index finger.

"Boop." He says, then looks to Marah, "Marah are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, Cas." She tells him. Marah had been the first one Cas saw when he woke up almost two nights ago. Since then, he'd been a bit obsessive.

* * *

"Dean." His name came out in a breath, so faint that she didn't know if he heard her. Not that Marah cared, but she felt his lips pull up into a grin against her neck, his teeth biting down, making her squirm underneath him.

Marah's back was pressed down into the leather of the stolen car's backseat. Her hands moved to slip underneath the bottom of Dean's shirt, her palms running up his abs. In one swift motion, she had it over his head, Dean lifting up just for a moment so it could be tossed to the front.

Marah caught his chin in her hand, making Dean pause for moment, starring down at her. "I missed you." She tells him, grinning, and then slips her other hand down his chest, pausing near the zipper of his jeans. "I _really _missed you." Dean's jaw goes slack, and his eyes darken before she leans up to mold her mouth with his.

Dean's tongue runs over her bottom lip, and she opens her mouth for him instantly, a moan escaping from Marah's mouth as he grinds his hips down into her. A hand slips up into his hair, pulling on it and making him growl into her mouth before his hands move, unbuttoning her shirt and lifting her up with him so he can slid it off her body.

Marah's hand slides down again, feeling him through his jeans, and Dean's breath hitches. "Babe.." Dean breathes out; "If we're going all the…_fuck_" his head hangs down limply, eyes screwed shut as she slips her hand under the waistband of his jeans.

"You talk too much." She whispers to him, and all Dean can do is nod, reaching down with his own hand to help her undo his jeans. Marah slips them down antagonizing slowly. After nine years, she knows just how to get Dean to lose it. His own trick is his Achilles heel.

He can't handle it when she goes slow.

He trembles above her, and his hand reaches out towards the fogged up mirror so Dean can support himself. He finds her lips again, pressing his to firmly to hers for a moment before skimming them across her jaw.

"Did you think of me like this?" he asks her, his voice deeper than usual. Marah clenches her thighs together; heat building inside her, and Dean presses a kiss right behind her ear. "You know you gotta answer me." He tells her, harsher this time. He gets demanding sometimes, and she loves it.

"Yes." She tells him. She tries slipping her hands down again, so that she can distract him, but Dean catches her, holding them in one of his and letting his free hand drift down between her legs, resting on her inner thigh.

"You thought of me doing this?" he asks again. "What was I doing?"

"_Dean_." She breathes, and he kisses her jaw.

"Did you think of this?" he asks, slipping one finger inside of her, watching her mouth open in voiceless pleasure. "How long since we've done this babe?" he asks her, moving his finger around slightly. "You're so-" he doesn't finish his sentence as she moans, bucking her hips down towards his hand.

Dean stays hovered over her, his mouth right by her ear. "What else?" he asks, slipping another finger in her. "Like that?"

"Come _on, Dean_." She begs him now, her breathing picking up. "_Please._"

"Please what?" he asks excitedly, his green eyes darker than she's ever seen. "What'd you want?"

"_You_."

Dean takes his fingers out of her, moving down on her slowly, her hips bucking up against him as he kisses her on the mouth. Their tongues work together as he thrusts inside of her, building up, they get faster, working in a perfected rhythm. Sweat covers both of their bare bodies, making the leather of the backseat harder to get a hold on. The windows of the car are fogged from their heated breaths, and with every thrust it sways to the side.

Marah grates her fingers over Dean's back, holding onto him and wrapping her legs around his waist so he can get deeper, hit that spot in her that only he knows how to hit. He flips them over, so she's on top of him. Her hands raking through his damp hair. She screams his name out, coming undone just as Dean can't hold on any longer.

She collapses on top of him, her hand resting on his warm chest, over his tattoo. Marah presses a kiss to his skin, smiling and biting him gently. His chest rumbles as he chuckles. Looking up, her brown eyes meet green, still dark with lust as he looks down at her.

"You're beautiful." Dean tells her, his hand intertwining with her left. He brings their joined hands up to his lips, kissing her ring. "So are birth control pills." He smirks and she barks out a laugh.

* * *

Five weeks later

* * *

Marah lets out a laugh as the rear end of the Impala fishtails out to the side. Dean pushes his beloved car faster, a smile on his face as Sam lets out a laugh. Meg just rolls her eyes from her spot next to Marah. While Cas sits quietly, looking out the window.

Dick Roman already knows they are coming. This is just their grand entrance.

"Dean." Sam says his brother's name in question, and Dean just smirks at him, skidding the Impala around a corner and gunning her towards the SucroCorp sign.

The Impala crashes into the sign, glass shattering on the blacktop as Meg and Marah get out first, Ruby's knife in Marah's hand.

Demons rush towards them, and Meg laughs as she is shot in the shoulder. "Hey boys." Another rushes towards Marah, and she ducks as he swings his fist towards her face. She latches onto his shoulder as his momentum causes him to fall forward slightly, yanking him forwards while driving the knife into his chest. Light flashes from his eyes and mouth, and she yanks out the blade, letting him fall to the ground.

Dean had tried convincing her to stay back at the cabin, to sit this one out as they went in to kill Dick.

_"No, Dean." _She had told him firmly, "_You could all die tomorrow. If there's one thing I know now. It's when I die, I'm gunna die with a gun in my hand and you by my side." _

So now she fights beside Meg, killing demons without hesitation, and being the distraction while Sam, Dean, and Cas slip inside. Once all the guards are brought down, Marah brings out her gun, aims it at the security camera, and shatters the surveillance.

"Let's go." Marah tells Meg quickly, wiping away some of the blood that splattered on her own face.

"Lead the way Grace O'Malley." Marah ignores Meg, turning and making her way inside the corporate building, the demon following close behind.

Marah hated all demons, but Meg she put up with. The two had been together for a whole month watching over Castiel.

Some people say that, when a person is placed in an extreme situation, they act purely on instinct. They fight for themselves. They fight for their own survival. They keep going against impossible odds, because they believe that something higher than themselves will keep them alive.

Marah used to be one of those believers. A girl who would go to church on Sundays, sit in a pew, and pray to God. She asked for forgiveness. She asked to be given second chances. She believed those chances were granted, the forgiveness given freely. She thought that God and angels would be watching over her, making sure everything would end up all right at the end of the day.

But then Dean died. Sam showed up on her doorstep, and she left everything behind. Marah buried the one man in the world who didn't deserve death. She held his cold hand in her own, stitched up his wounds, tired to put a broken, mangled corpse back together again.

Though he came back. After four long months of grieving, Dean Winchester showed up again. Raised from Hell by angels, a deed commanded by God himself, or so they were all told. They met Castiel; discovered angels were real. They found out that being too righteous was their fault. It made them douchebags.

Nevertheless they were happy together for a while. Until Alastair came. Until the angels commanded Dean torture him, like he had been taught to in Hell. The angels almost got Dean killed again. That was when Marah decided they were not special.

The apocalypse jumpstarted a few months after. The breaking of the sixty-six seals. Lilith. Sam and the demon blood. Ruby.

It was then that Marah thought: this is when God will save us. He will come into play. She hoped so much that Cas, with who she was friends with by that time, would find his Father. But he couldn't find Him, and Joshua told the boys God wasn't helping.

So they stopped the Apocalypse. Sam, Dean, Cas, Bobby, and Marah. They did that. Marah doesn't really consider herself a vital player, but Dean always disagrees. He tells her she helped him get through it, helped him make the right choices. He didn't want to say yes to Michael, because then he wouldn't have her. And Dean couldn't lose Sam and Marah.

That day in Lawrence, he lost them both. She watched, barely alive, barely breathing beside Dean, as Castiel threw a Molotov cocktail of Holy Oil at Michael. Marah remembers watching Castiel explode with a snap of Lucifer's fingers, and then. Lights out. Dean told her that Lucifer snapped her neck, his hands clenched into fists as he told her of how Sam jumped in the Pit, taking Adam with him. Of how Castiel came back, healed Dean, brought back Bobby and then brought her back as well.

For six months, Dean taught Marah how to be a hunter. He never forced it on her, she asked him to. How to shoot a gun, how to fight, how to lie. She wanted to learn that. Mostly so Dean could take his mind off Sam for at least a few hours. But it brought them closer as well. Dean found having Marah as a partner, they had a silent language between them. She knew what he was going to do, knew when to be tough, when to haul ass.

Then finding Sam again, finding out he had never been dead. She was there.

Getting Sam's soul back. She was there.

Last Christmas, she was there. Sam, Dean, and Marah all around a crappy pine tree branch Dean had brought in from the road outside. He had stolen a flowerpot out of a store window display, and unceremoniously stuck the branch in. It was one of their better Christmas's.

Dean had got Sam a new pair of shoes, given Marah a new gun. Sam and Marah had both pitched in together to get Dean some new shirts. Sam had given Marah a book on dealing with challenging relationships, and in return she had gotten him a new laptop case.

Those boys were her family now. She loved them both with all her heart, though Dean had a place all his own. They stopped the Apocalypse, not God, not the angels. Her family did that.

That's what Marah believed in now. The power and strength that came from family. Not just Sam and Dean and Bobby. Castiel and Kevin too. They were all her family.

She fights for them. Puts her life on the line to save the world, for her family, for everyone else to have a better tomorrow. The public may not know about them. How, because of them, their children are still alive, _they _are still alive. But Marah knows it, and that's worth it. They know the difference they're making.

"Meg!" Marah hisses, putting her arm out to push the demon back as guards walk down the hallway. She doesn't move, doesn't breathe as they go by. Meg glares at her, her eyes narrowed.

Once the guards' pass they keep going, Marah following her gut in which way to go. She trusts it'll lead her to either Sam or Dean.

It proves true, as they round the corner, her hearing picks up the telltale sound of Sam Winchester's footsteps.

He has a distraught looking Kevin Tran with him, and after a very brief greeting, the four of them make their way through the building.

A crash from down the hallway causes Marah and Sam move into a sprint, racing down the bright hallway and shoving through the glass doors just in time to see Dean drive the righteous bone through Dick's neck. "I knew I had to surprise you." Dean grins, though it falls when the room starts to pulsate. The energy comes from Dick Roman, who stands expressionless.

Dean looks over at Marah and Sam, his eyebrows together in confusion as Cas stands a few feet away from Dick. The pulsing gets faster, louder, and Marah's gut twists.

"Dean! Get away from him!" She shouts, moving to run towards him. Faster, louder, black rings appear to come from Dick's neck, and Dean's hand is still on the bone. "Dean!" She goes to run to him, but Sam catches her, Dean lets go, taking a step to get further away.

A moment later, and Marah feels like she watches it in slow motion. Dick Roman explodes, black goo covering almost every surface within a ten foot radius. She feels relief at first, Dick is dead, and the Leviathans will wither.

But then Dean and Cas aren't there. Marah hears a scream, and doesn't register that it's her own. "Where are they!?" she wails, and Sam's arms wrap around her waist as she goes to rush towards where her husband just was. "Where is he!?" she screams, and Sam struggles to hold her back. "Dean! _Dean!"_ She sounds like a wild animal, and Sam fights to keep his arms locked around her.

Crowley suddenly appears, two other demons by his side, and Crowley places a hand on Kevin's shoulder, one of his demons grabbing Meg. They disappear a moment later.

"Marah. We have to go." Sam whispers harshly in her ear. "We'll find them, but we have to go. This place is rubble in five minutes."

"Dean!" She keeps screaming, ignoring Sam. He lifts her up, turning to run out of the room, down the hallway and outside. Marah keeps screaming, terror filling her whole being.

Dean can't be gone. He can't be. Not again. She can't do that again.

"_Dean!_" Sam's heart constricts as she keeps calling out for his older brother. Tears roll down her face, and Sam keeps running, bursting outside through the doors, Kevin and Meg right behind him. "No!" Marah struggles against Sam as he goes to put her down. She tries to make a break towards the SucroCorp building right away, and Sam has to hold onto her again, watching as the first explosion goes off.

Glass blasts out from the windows, a chain reaction then taking affect. Fire reaches up into the sky, smoke filling the air. The sound has everyone's ears ringing, a moment later the whole building exploding into nothing. "NO! DEAN!" Marah's hysterical as she screams, not knowing where Dean is, or if he was inside there somewhere. Because there's no coming out alive from that.

She goes limp in Sam's arms, collapsing to the ground and he struggles to hold her up. "Marah," he calls to her softly, a tear of his own escaping, "It's okay."

"Dean." Her voice crumbles, and she shakes her head, fighting back sobs that try to ripe up her throat. "_Dean!"_ Sam can't handle watching her like this, so he picks her up. She panics, her elbow swinging backwards and connecting with Sam's nose. He hears it crack, and he'd feel the pain if he wasn't going numb from shock. Blood runs down his face, and Marah kicks against him, but he doesn't let go. "We can't leave! Where is he?!" Marah's screaming again, and Sam's crying as he carries her away towards the Impala.

Not five minutes into the drive away from what was SucroCorp and Marah has gone silent. Tears continue to roll down her face, and she feels as though a black hole is engulfing her heart. Sam drives, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand every few seconds.

In the back of her mind, Marah already knows which gun she wants to put in her mouth. Her Beretta 92FS. It had been Dean's but he gave it to her a few years ago. Marah knows she won't put the barrel in her mouth though. She may feel like dying, but she's not going to go like that.

_I'll bring him back_, she tells herself, her fingernails digging into her palms, because she needs to feel something other than the pain of losing Dean again. _I'll bring him back, or I'll die trying_.


	8. Chapter 8

**Wow! Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed last chapter! I hope you all enjoy this one too! There are only two chapters left in the story.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural**

* * *

_Chapter Eight_

* * *

Song: What I've Done - Linkin Park

* * *

June 2013-Jackson Hole Airport, Wyoming

* * *

"_Purgatory_?" Sam asks Dean incredulously, pausing to look over the top of the Impala at his older brother. Dean just smirks; shrugging his shoulders like it's no big deal, his lips pulling across his tan, freckled face.

Sam had gotten the phone call twelve hours before. The eldest Winchester, who Sam had thought to be dead, called him from a payphone in Louisiana. Sam had demanded Dean face his fear of flying; driving thirty plus hours to see each other was just too long of a drive, even for them.

Sam tosses his brother the keys, Dean's face lighting up like a little kid on Christmas as he slides into the driver's seat. He runs his calloused hands over the leather steering wheel adoringly.

"Miss me, Baby?" Dean's smile doesn't reach across his whole face, but it's there all the same. The brothers pull out of the parking lot, turning the car towards Idaho.

"So," Dean asks a few minutes later, breaking the silence, "What happened to you?" Dean averts his eyes from the road for a moment to look over at Sam, who rings his hands together in his lap. His hair is longer than it was a year ago, hanging well past his ears now. Dean notices the laugh lines on his younger brother's face as well.

"Nothing." Sam says, shrugging his large shoulders.

"Bullshit." Dean calls him out instantly, Sam clenching his jaw, his eyebrows drawing together as he lets out a breath through his nose. "You're still hunting right?" Sam hesitates, unsure of how to answer, and Dean picks up on it instantly. "You quit?"

"No!" Sam tells him, "I mean, I thought about it."

"After you tried to find me?" Dean asks, and Sam doesn't reply. "You did try to find me, right?" Dean glances over at Sam, who refuses to look at his older brother. "Dude, I know we have that rule where if one of us disappears, we don't go looking for the other. But, hell Sammy, we always ignored that one! Did you even try to look for me!?" Dean's voice is rising, and Sam knows he'll pull over soon.

"She did." His voice is soft, and Dean's eyebrows rise. "That's what we got in a fight over."

"You mean, Marah?"

"Who else would I mean, dude?" Sam asks and Dean shakes his head. "But yeah. I didn't have you, or Bobby. And I didn't know what to do. I wanted time, needed time, and she just jumped right into trying to find you."

"You didn't help?"

"You were gone, Dean! I watched you disappear!" Sam's yelling now, "I was completely alone!" with those words, Dean slams on the brakes, the Impala screeching to a stop. Dean's words come out too calmly.

"Don't say you fucking left her."

* * *

July 2012 - Imboden, Arkansas

* * *

_Sam woke up with a jolt, his latest nightmare leaving a layer of sweat covering his whole body. He rubbed his eyes with clenched fists, looking over to see Marah's face illuminated by the light coming from his laptop's screen. Her brown eyes were still glued to the screen, just like they had been when he went to sleep._

_Sam glanced over at the clock beside his bed; the blinking numbers telling him it was almost dawn. A look at the motel bed beside his own told Sam that Marah hadn't gone to sleep at all. Hadn't even touched the sheets._

_He sighed, pushing himself up, flipping on a lamp, and making his way over to his older brother's wife…now…. his brother's widow. _

_"Marah," he said gently, "Maybe you should get some sleep." Sam made his way behind her, resting a giant hand on her shoulder. On top of one of Dean's sweatshirts. He narrowed his eyes at the computer screen, his eyes scanning over the article about Dick Roman's sudden disappearance. Sam shook Marah's shoulder. "Come on," he prodded. _

_"No, Sam." Her voice was tired, and when she looked up at him, dark circles were prominent under her eyes. _

_"I don't think you'll find anything." Sam closed the laptop. _

_"You haven't even tried to look for him." She accused, "You're not even trying!" _

_"We always promised we wouldn't look for each other."_

_"So what?" She demands, leaning back in the chair and crossing her arms over her chest, "We weren't supposed to look for you? We weren't supposed to get your damn soul back for you Sam?" _

_"I didn't mean it like that." Sam sighs, running a hand over his face as Marah stands up. _

_"I thought you guys always ignored that rule."_

_"Well, maybe it's time to live a normal life, like we always talked about." Her eyebrows shot up at him as she scoffed._

_"Are you saying quit hunting?" she asked in disbelief._

_"Yeah, what are we supposed to do, keep going?"_

_"Yes! Yes, Sam!" Marah's voice began to rise, "People will die!"_

_"Not our problem." _

_"Not our problem! No? And Dean being gone? That's not our damn problem, because you're not putting any fucking effort into it!?"_

_"Marah, you're running yourself into the ground here! Dean's gone, okay, we don't have any leads, we don't have any freaking clue as to where he could be!" Sam's eyes widened as he spoke, emphasizing his words. He ran another hand through his hair as Marah glared up at him._

_"Well, fine." She said simply. "I guess it's just my problem then." She made her way over to her duffle bag, still packed from when they arrived yesterday morning. She slung it over her shoulder, grabbing her pistol - Dean's pistol - off the table and securing it in the waistband of her jeans. "You know, I always thought family stuck together." _

_She was out the door seconds later, and Sam wouldn't hear anything from her for the next several weeks._

* * *

"Where is she now?" Dean demands.

"At the motel." Sam informs him, "She's fine, dude, Kevin has the room right next to hers." Dean visibly relaxes at Sam's words, and he lets out a breath, lifting his foot off the brake.

"Good." He says curtly, biting his lower lip. "How's Kevin?"

For the next hour Sam filled Dean in on all that had been going on. How Kevin escaped from Crowley, met up with Sam and Marah, and had stashed the demon tablet somewhere safe. Sam tells Dean about the hunts he's been on in the past few months. All smaller things. A vampire here. A werewolf there. The occasional salt and burn. Dean notices, but doesn't say anything.

They avoid the topic of Marah. Dean doesn't ask, Sam doesn't say anything of her. He doesn't tell Dean about her new nightmares. Doesn't tell Dean about how far she went to try and find him. Doesn't tell Dean why they met up again.

Dean's too afraid to ask. It's been a year. She may not love him anymore, for all he knows. Hell, he hoped she'd moved on. Everything he cares about gets hurt. He doesn't want her to get hurt; she's been through enough because of him.

But Dean is too selfish to wish that much. To wish her gone, to tell her to leave. He needs her, and he missed her more each day. He's just afraid of her reaction, what she'll think of him. He's not the same man anymore.

That's why he called Sam. He doesn't know what to say to his own wife.

An hour and a half away from the motel, and Dean pulls into a gas station to fill up the Impala. Dean fills her up as Sam goes inside to buy the essentials. "Rhymes with 'lie'" Dean had hollered to Sam on his way inside.

When Sam comes back, his older brother is standing behind the Impala, his hand frozen on the trunk door as he stares down inside.

"Sammy," his voice is a whisper. "What is that?" Sam doesn't need to look to know what Dean is looking at. He had prayed his older brother wouldn't look in the trunk, Sam realized he forgot to take it out halfway to the airport. He couldn't ditch it on the side of the road. Marah would kill him.

Dean's eyes stay locked on the toy. Brown and fuzzy, with gray button eyes, the old teddy bear lies on its side in the trunk.

* * *

"What?" Dean's face is white, and Sam wonders if his older brother is going to pass out.

"His name's Carter." Sam tells his brother slowly.

"W-when was, Sam…" Dean can't finish his sentence, and Sam just grins.

"February tenth." Sam pauses, and Dean's eyes never leave his younger brother's face, "Lawrence, Kansas." Dean's eyes widen in disbelief.

"She made us drive all the way there, just so he would be born in the same town as his father."

"I, I have a son." Dean whispers, and Sam claps him on the shoulder.

"Congrats, man."

"The hunting-"

"Stopped as soon as she told me, for her at least." Sam cuts Dean off, and his older brother let's out a sigh of relief. "We stayed together, found Kevin. I took small cases, mostly because she forced me too. She stopped answering calls from other hunters, wanted to keep him a secret." Sam explains. Over the past few years, and more so after Bobby's death, Marah was the one hunter's called if they weren't sure what they were up against.

Either her or Garth, though most preferred to talk to Marah and avoid having to deal with the other exuberant hunter.

"Good." Dean breathes out, "Good."

* * *

"Dean!" She's even more beautiful than he remembers. As soon as he closed the door to the Impala, she was racing across the parking lot. Her bare feet pounding against the cool pavement, wearing only shorts and a sleeveless shirt as she sprints towards him. Moonlight glints off of Mary's old ring, still on her left hand, just before Dean scoops her up in his arms, he spins her around in a circle once, smiling as she laughs, before putting her feet back on the ground.

She buries her face in the crook of his neck, and he feels her tears as a few of his own go down his face. He breathes in deeply, taking in the feeling of her in his arms again, the smell of her surrounding him again. Her arms are latched around his neck, his hands gripping to her shoulders as he holds her as close as possible.

He pulls back first, so he can get a good look at her face. She smiles up at him, her brown eyes sparkling. She frowns slightly at the scars on his face, unwinding one arm to run her thumb over his cheek. Dean leans down, kissing her softly.

She responds to him immediately, pressing her lips back against his. It reminds them both of when he came back from Hell, and they shove those thoughts from their brains.

"I found a bear in the trunk." Dean whispers, and Marah's smile grows, and then more tears are running down her face. "Shhhh." Dean soothes, but she shakes her head.

"I thought, I thought you'd never get to meet him." Sam coughs, grabbing their attention, and motions with his head towards the motel room.

"We might wanna go inside." He suggests, and Marah notices her yell has awoken some of the other motel residents. She nods, grabbing Dean's hand and he intertwines their fingers.

"Night Sam." Marah smiles, and he nods back.

"Welcome back, Dean." He says, and Dean nods, though his attention is more at the door he's being led towards.

Sam turns, going into the adjacent motel room, and Dean hears Kevin's voice as it opens. "They've been staying together and giving Carter and I our own room." Marah explains, and Dean nods again.

As soon as they step inside, Dean's gaze finds the crib by the bed. He's frozen in place as Marah's hand slips out of his, and she walks over to the crib, bending down and scooping a buddle into her arms.

"Guess who's here?" she croons, rocking her arms slightly. She glances up at Dean, smiling softly, and then she's next to him, and Dean's looking down at his son's face.

He's asleep, but even with his eyes closed, Dean can see the resemblance. His own mouth, her nose, his blonde hair.

To Dean, he's perfect. He can't believe how tiny Carter is, how fragile he looks in Marah's arms. "You wanna hold him?" She asks in a whisper, the look of total awe on Dean's face makes her heart swell.

Dean shakes his head, unsure of himself to keep the little boy safe. "He'll wake up." He whispers.

"He won't cry, almost never cries, and if he does, then just sing to him." Marah runs a hand over Carter's face gently, then looks up at Dean imploringly. "You won't hurt him." She tells Dean, "In your arms is the safest place he'll ever be." She holds their son out to him, and Dean carefully takes him, nestling the boy into the crook of his arm, making sure he's secure and won't fall.

As if he can sense someone new is holding him, Carter's eyes open, and Dean is taken aback by the brilliant green orbs that stare up at him. It's like looking in the mirror.

"I broke down when I first saw them." Marah whispers, "Reminded me so much of you. They've actually darkened a little bit since he was born." Dean's eyebrows go together, but he doesn't look away from his son, in fear that if he does, the little boy who he already loves will disappear.

"That's hard to believe."

"I know." Marah smiles wider as Carter reaches up with one of his little hands towards Dean's face.

"Hey buddy." Dean whispers, a lump in his throat.

"He recognizes you." Marah tells him, and this gets Dean's attention.

"How?" In response, Marah walks over to the crib, reaching inside and removing two papers from between the bars. Dean follows slowly, sinking down so he sits on the bed. His wife sits beside him, turning the papers over so Dean can see the photographs.

The first one is of them all. Dean, Sam, Marah, Bobby, Castiel, Ellen, and Jo. The picture they had all taken before going in to Carthage years ago. Marah had stayed behind with Bobby, Dean refusing to let her come along. In the picture, his arms are wrapped around her shoulders as he stands behind her. Jo beside Marah, their hands clasped together. It's the first picture, the one before Castiel pointed out they all would probably die the next day. Everyone's laughing, Sam's head tilted back and a shit-eating grin on Bobby's face.

The next photo is one of just Dean. Marah had taken it herself almost three years ago. It shows Dean sitting in front of the Impala, his arms crossed and resting atop his knees as he looks away from the camera. You can't see it in the picture, but he's looking out over Lake Michigan.

It had been one of the few trips they had gone on together, just the two of them. Sam stayed at Bobby's, and Dean drove Marah out to Wisconsin. She had snapped the picture before he had time to look over at her.

"He sees you every day." Marah places the pictures back on the bed, watching Dean stare down at their son, taking Carter's tiny hand in his own.

* * *

Dean is woken up only a few hours after he falls asleep. At first, he doesn't know why he's awake, the room is still and there are a few more hours until the sun rises. Marah twitches slightly in his arms, her body going rigid for a moment. Dean's eyebrows come together, his eyes narrowing. He waits, but she doesn't move again.

She screams.

Dean's arms tighten around her instantly, bringing her closer to him. He's been gone for a year, but the reaction is ingrained into his soul.

"Marah." He whispers into her ear, her next scream muffled in his chest. "Marah, wake up." He runs a hand up and down her back, and when her breathing hitches, he knows she's awake.

But she's different now. Marah stays silent in his arms. No clutching him closer, no sobs, not even one tear. No relieved sigh of his name. He can feel her hands flat against his bare chest, one hand still over his heart.

It takes Dean a moment to remember that she's been living with her nightmares alone. He wasn't there to wake her up. He wasn't there to comfort her. He can't even be certain he knows what her nightmare was about. He doesn't know what's happened to her, not all of it at least, in the past year.

"What was it?" he asks.

"Nothing." Is her immediate answer. She doesn't even think about it. Dean barely hears her even, and he lifts her chin up with a finger.

"Don't lie to me." She shakes her head. "Was it the demons?" he guesses, referring back to her torture.

"Not those demons." Dean's eyebrows rise on his forehead, his jaw setting.

"There were more?"

"Not now," she begs him, pleading at him with her eyes, "let's not talk about it now." Dean lets out a grunt in response, promising himself that he'll find out what happened to her later.

"I should've been here." Dean says then, breaking eye contact with her. Marah knows him well enough to know when to make him look her in the eyes, and when to let him pretend she's not listening. Right now, she knows this is the latter. "I should've listened to you. I heard you tell me to get away, but I held on. I should've been here when you found out. When you went through the pregnancy. Hell, when you had our child. I wasn't here. And I should've been. I let you down." Marah's throat tightens up when Dean's jaw trembles. "That's what I do, I let down the people I love. Hell, I never even said it out loud to ya. I regretted that every damn day I was in that fucking forest." He's silent after, and his breathing catches as he holds back tears.

"You wanna know something?" Marah asks him, and Dean looks down at her. "You love too much. It's why you care, why you hurt the way you do. You save lives, you saved the _world_. And all you're worried about is that I had to be alone for a year." A ghost of a smile passes over her face, one that Dean almost misses in the little light that comes from the nightlight plugged in beside the bed. "I hated it. Hell Dean, when you disappeared, I knew what gun I'd put in my mouth if you never came back. And I almost did it. I had the gun in my hand one night, sitting alone in a motel room in Fairfield. Then I," she pauses when Dean's hand comes up, wiping away a tear she didn't know was on her face, "I thought of how much I've changed. In the past nine years, being with you. How strong you are. How faithful you are. I couldn't pull the trigger. And the next week. I found out I was pregnant."

"You found Sam then." Dean states, and she nods.

"I found Sam. And then we found Kevin. And then I had a beautiful baby boy that looked so much like his father that I cried for days."

"Then I came back." Dean finishes, and she laughs softly, nodding her head and resting it over his heart. Listening to it beating, and hoping that it never stops. "I love you." Dean whispers to her, and all she can do in response is press a kiss to his heart. She doesn't need to say it back, even if she could manage to get the words past the lump in her throat. Dean knows.

* * *

Dean's eating breakfast when Sam and Kevin come into his motel room the next morning. Marah's in the shower, the door cracked open slightly in case her son starts crying, or if Dean needs anything.

They don't knock, and Dean's attention is taken off of his son when Kevin envelops him in a hug. "Hey Kev." Dean grins, patting the prophet on the shoulder.

"Welcome back, Dean." Kevin Tran smiles, and Sam makes his way immediately over to Carter, who sits on the floor, his teddy bear in his hands. Dean watches as the little boy's face lights up at the sight of Sam. The younger Winchester bends down, scooping the little boy up and spinning him around.

"Sam!" Dean's panic is drowned out by Carter's laughter, the noise ringing in Dean's ears as he watches how comfortably, almost too comfortably, his little brother handles his son.

Sam and Kevin don't notice Dean's gaze. They're not aware of the void that he feels, once again being reminded of how he hasn't been present in the first six months of his son's life. He feels like the outcast, watching as Sam smiles at Carter, tickling his side to make the little boy laugh again. Dean didn't know his son was ticklish.

Dean didn't even trust himself to have his son next to him while he ate breakfast. Marah had placed Carter on the floor after she fed him, and Dean was too uncertain in his abilities with babies to even carry his own without other people there to make sure he didn't hurt his own son.

"Dean." Dean looks up to see Kevin and Sam both starring at him with questioning expressions on their faces. Kevin looks concerned, and Dean looks to Sam then. Judging by his little brother's expression, it wasn't the first time he called his name. "You okay, dude?"

"I'm great." Dean says with false bravado that Sam sees right through. Dean pushes his breakfast back, standing up and holding his arms out for his son. "Hey, bud." Dean can't keep the smile off his face when Sam hands him Carter. The little boy smiles slightly, his hand coming up again to rest on Dean's jaw.

The smile on Dean's face then is one of the brightest Sam has ever seen. It stretches across his whole face, lighting up his eyes and making his older brother actually look like he's thirty-three.

"Carter Winchester." Dean says, liking the way the name sounds. He sits on the floor, his son between his legs, and reaches for the teddy bear. "Carter." The boy looks up at his father, and when he sees the teddy bear in his hands, he reaches out for it, opening and closing his tiny hands. "Here." Dean smiles, handing it over. He runs a hand over Carter's head, brushing through the mop of blonde hair he already has on his head. "You're never growing this out." Dean tells his son, and then looks up at Sam. "Bullwinkle there has enough hair for everyone."


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter Nine_

* * *

Song: Don't Look Back - Boston

* * *

**Late October 2013 – Boulder, Colorado**

* * *

Dean's arm stretches out over the other side of the bed as he wakes up, his hand finding nothing but sheets. From the other side of the motel room, Marah glances over at the sound of movement, a soft smile coming across her face when she sees Dean awake.

"Morning." She whispers quickly, before Dean can work up a panic with her not being in the usual place. He relaxes visibly, turning over in bed to see her standing by the television; Carter balanced skillfully in her arms. She looks tired, and Dean frowns.

"I could've gotten him." Dean whispers back, vaguely remembering waking up hours earlier to their son crying. He may have been quiet for the first few months, but now the boy had a set of lungs on him. That, and a tendency to get into trouble ever since he learned how to crawl.

"You got him last time, and besides, you need the sleep." She laughs softly as Dean makes a face, sitting up in bed and stretching his arms out. Dean glances over at the other bed, the sheets still in disarray and lacking a certain ex-demon-blood junkie. "He went out to get coffee." Marah answers her husband's silent question as to Sam's whereabouts.

"How's your arm?" Dean asks her, standing up and walking over. He takes her right wrist gently in her hand, twisting it around so he can see the long five-inch cut that runs through the skin.

"I'll live, ain't the first time a werewolf's cut me." Dean's jaw set at her words. "It wasn't your fault." She told him again, perhaps for the hundredth time since the showdown three nights ago.

"I should've been there."

"You were, I got slow, that's all. We ganked the son of a bitch. All that matters." Dean nodded, looking over her stitches one more time. A quiet humming broke the silence, and Dean smiled as Carter lifted his head off his mom's shoulder.

"Hey little man." A smile appeared on Carter's face when he sees his father, and he reaches towards Dean with his hands. Marah shakes her head fondly, passing over the little boy to Dean, who acts like his son weighs a hundred pounds. "Damn, you're getting big!"

At nine months old, it's obvious Carter Winchester is going to be the spitting image of his father. Blonde hair and green eyes. His skin's a little darker than Dean's, matching Marah's toned complexion more so than Dean's own color, and his nose resembles Marah's as well, but everything else is all Dean.

The little boy giggles, reaching up to Dean's face with his little hands. Dean engulfs one Carter's hands in one of his own and his son lets out a noise of happiness. "You really have to learn how to talk." Dean teases, only getting more noises out of the boy as a response.

Marah rubs at her eyes with the back of her hand, yawning loudly before putting her hair up. The motel room door clicks a moment later, Sam coming through with a tray of coffees in one hand and a newspaper held trapped between his elbow and side.

"Thank God." Marah sighs when she sees him, walking over and grabbing one of the drinks and sipping on it eagerly.

"Mornin' Sammy." Dean greets his younger brother as he closes the door, setting down the coffees and newspaper.

"Hey, dude. And little dude." Sam ruffles Carter's hair, the little boy smiling up at his uncle. Sam takes a seat at the small table across from Marah, opening the newspaper and sliding it over in front of her. "Found us a case."

Dean makes his way over, reading the article over his wife's shoulder as Sam explains it. "Madison, Wisconsin. Three deaths in the past two months where in the days before they die all the victims reported hearing a horse following them around."

"How is that our kinda thing?" Dean asks.

"Because," Sam points to a line further down on the page, "they were all killed in their homes, but there are no signs of forced entry."

"So they knew whoever ganked them." Dean shrugs, still not believing that it was their kind of gig.

"Or," Marah speaks up, "the thing didn't have to use doors." Dean huffs as Sam agrees with Marah.

"Exactly."

"I say we go." Marah stands up from her chair. "How far away is it?"

"Fourteen hours." Sam tells her, and Marah nods.

"Awesome."

* * *

Four days later – Madison, Wisconsin

* * *

"I hate this job." Dean complains for the hundredth time from where he sits on the motel couch. Carter sits in his lap holding his teddy bear, though his eyes are trained on his uncle, who straightens his tie. "Why can't you and me do this one?"

"Because that's not the rotation, Dean." Sam points out again. It was their system ever since Dean got back from Purgatory. Working small jobs and rotating who did what. Sam and Dean went on a hunt, Marah stayed back with Carter. Marah and Dean went on a hunt, Sam stayed back with Carter. And like this time, Sam and Marah went on a hunt, Dean stayed back with Carter. It worked out well. Each of them got bonding time with the little boy, while the two working together got time to themselves as well. They had also set up a two-day grace period between jobs as well, so they wouldn't be on the move constantly.

"Screw the rotation."

"This would still be happening anyways, Dean." Sam points out. "A couple's formal means she comes, unless we pose as gay."

"Gross Sam. No, I'd be going with her, dude. Not you." Dean glared at his brother, "She's my wife."

It had taken them two days to figure out what was causing the deaths. The ghost of Daniel Howard, a man who had been dead for over a hundred years, wasn't too pleased when the town bulldozed his old home two months ago. So now he was back, killing off the people who pushed for it to be destroyed.

His remains were cremated after his death, but Sam had managed to find a source that said a local ballroom had the man's hat on display. He was willing to bet that a stray piece of hair got stuck in the fibers. All they had to do now was burn the thing.

The only way to get into the ballroom was to be invited though, which Marah managed to talk one of the employees into doing for them. "I've always wondered what it'd be like to dance in a place like this!" She had lied, gaping at the high ceilings and hardwood floors when they had gone over days before.

"Ready, Sam?" Marah asks, coming out of the bathroom, and both Dean and Sam just stare at her, Carter reaching out for his mother from Dean's lap. "Uh, is something wrong?" she asks awkwardly, looking down at herself. The black cocktail dress drops down to just above her knees, hugging every curve of her body and coming up around her neck.

"Uh, no." Sam's the first one to speak, "You look, fantastic." Marah blushes slightly at the compliment.

"Thanks." She looks to Dean, who frowns at her. "Dean?"

"This isn't fair." She laughs, walking over to him and bending down, kissing him quickly. Dean points a finger at Sam, "You better watch her." He threatens.

"I will."

"Oh, I know you will. Anyone else touches her-"

"Shut up." Marah cuts him off, "I'm right here. It'll be fine. You just remember to feed our son. And he should be asleep by nine, so don't you keep him up again."

"I-"

"He was awake until two in the morning last time Winchester and we all had to suffer because of your choices." Dean shuts up then and Marah nods her head. "We'll keep you updated."

"Okay. Don't do anything stupid."

"How could we? We're leaving the stupid one here." Sam says from the doorway, holding it open and nodding towards the Impala. He ducks as Dean chucks a pillow at his head, and it hits the wall with a soft thud. "We should get going."

"Right behind you." Marah glares at Dean before taking Carter from his arms. "Bye Carter. You be good with your Dad." The boy smiles and she kisses his cheek softly, handing him back to Dean before making her way towards the door. "Bye Dean."

"Be safe Kelly Garrett."

* * *

"This is so weird." Marah whispers from where she stands next to Sam. Her brother-in-law nods, still watching the couples twirl each other around on the dance floor. "It's like those old Revolutionary timey movies."

"Or the ballroom scene from Titanic."

"I think you've got your movies mixed up, Sam."

"Oh." Marah just nods, still watching the people dance, "Let's do this quickly."

"Yeah, please." Sam's hand moves to the small of her back, guiding her out and into the main foyer. He nods towards the grand staircase that leads upstairs towards the museum section of the building.

"Mr. Tyler! Mr. Tyler!" Halfway up the stairs they freeze, turning around to see Janice Monroe, the woman they had been invited by. She hurries up the stairs to meet them. "Mrs. Tyler," She nods to Marah, who internally makes a note to yell at Sam some more for panicking and saying they were married. "Where are you two off to?"

"The museum section." Marah tells her, earning an exasperated look from Sam, "Sammy here is an avid hat collector and he's been absolutely _dying_ to see the ones upstairs." She can feel Sam's gaze burning a hole through her, but she just wraps her arms around him, smiling up at him. "Isn't that right?"

"Sure is." Sam says between his teeth. Janice's face falls.

"Upstairs is closed tonight, I'm afraid."

"Oh, but please?" Marah persists, "It's all he could talk about on the way over."

"It'd mean a lot ma'am." Sam forces a smile on his face.

"Well," Janice glances down towards the door, checking for anyone else around, "I guess one time would be okay. Just hurray back." She ushers them up the stairs before turning to head back downstairs. "Find me when you return, won't you?"

"Of course." Marah lies sweetly, still holding Sam's arm. "Thank you so much!" She looks up at Sam, tugging on him slightly, "Come on darling!" Sam grabs Marah's hand for show, gripping it tightly.

Marah's jaw clenches together as Sam's grip gets tighter and tighter, though he lets go as soon as they're all the way up the stairs. "Ow." Marah complains, opening and closing her hand.

"It's all he could talk about on the way over." Sam does a crappy impression of Marah, "_Really_?! You're turning into Dean."

"I can't decide if that's a compliment or an insult." They fall into silence after Marah's remark, and quietly make their way down the hallway.

The walls around them are made of oak, the deep coloring of the wood contrasting the carpeting they walk on. Old paintings hang on the walls, depicting everything from farm landscapes, to skyscrapers, to portraits. Marah reads the little bronze labels that accompany them as they go by, recognizing some names, but mostly she hasn't ever heard of any of them.

She takes note of the candles that are also on the walls, assuming they're more decorations, since they have clearly never been lit before. They stand on silver colored candlesticks, polished so that they shine and reflect the light from the ceiling.

"Over there." Sam points a finger down a ways, picking up his pace as Marah mumbles a curse, struggling to keep up with him in her dress. They stop in front of the glass case; the old felt hat kept preserved inside.

A picture of Daniel Howard hangs on the wall behind it, a plague also there engraved with the man's accomplishments. "Sam," Marah says, as the younger Winchester draws his arm back to smash the glass. "This case has almost gone-"

Marah's cut off as she's thrown backwards by an invisible force, hurtling into the bookcase on the other side of the room. The shelves snap when her back collides with them; wood, books, and figurines all crashing down as she falls to the ground in a heap.

"Marah!" Sam shouts.

"The hat!" She yells back when she sees him about to rush to her, Sam stares at her for a millisecond, then turns towards the glass case, smashing it to pieces with his elbow. Sam is thrown a second later, crashing back to the floor twenty feet away. "Damn it!" Marah shoves the various items off of herself, some pieces of glass cutting into her hands as she drags herself onto her feet.

She glances to her left, spotting one of the candles on the wall and grabbing it. She yanks on the candlestick, though it doesn't budge, glued down years ago. Marah glances behind herself, the ghost of Daniel Howard flickering between visible and invisible just a few feet away. "Come on, come on" Marah pleads as she yanks again and again on the candlestick, it slowly coming looser with each pull. "I'm _not_ getting killed by a ghost who looks like Robert Englund."

"Run!" Sam gasps from where he's getting up, holding his left arm close to his chest as it throbs in pain.

The candlestick breaks off then, and Marah whips around, swinging the iron through the ghost. It disappears instantly, and she turns to Sam, "I've got it." He sighs, getting to his feet as Marah makes her way over to the hat. "Lighter?"

Sam digs in his pocket, glancing down as he tries to find it. "Sam!" Marah's cry makes his snap his head up just as his hand wraps around the lighter. The ghosts stands right in front of Sam, glaring at him. "Catch!" The ghost puts up his hand, but disappears half a second later, the candlestick hitting Sam in the chest roughly.

"Ow!" Sam looks up at Marah, his eyebrows drawn together. "Thanks for the warning."

"You have slow reflexes. Lighter?" Sam tosses it to her, and Marah quickly picks up the hat, holding it over the small flame until it catches.

She holds it until the flames almost touch her fingertips, and then lets it fall to the ground. Sam makes his way over, still favoring his arm and rubbing the spot on his chest where the candlestick hit him.

They wait until the hat is completely gone, and just the floor is on fire. Sam stamps it out with his shoe, Marah looking over her arms and legs, which have some new cuts and blood on them. She'll be bruised on her back tomorrow from the bookcase for sure.

Sam gets the fire out, and then the fire alarm starts sounding. A loud, high-pitched shrieking noise. "We should go." Sam suggests, tilting his head towards the way downstairs and outside and pointing that way as well. Marah looks around, the burned carpet, the broken glass case, the gone hat, the broken bookshelf and wall decorations.

"Yeah, we should." She agrees quickly, and they both turn and start jogging down the hallway. "I don't think we're gunna be invited back." Marah says aloud as they rush down the stairs.

"I don't think so either." Sam glances towards where Janice stands in the doorway, gawking at them as she tries to control the crowd of people who rush towards the doors. He raises one hand in a wave, and her gawk turns into a heated glare, Sam's hand falls and he turns back around, ushering Marah outside faster.

* * *

**I hope you liked this chapter! Even though this is a Dean/OC story I thought it'd be interesting to see her working with Sam. There's one chapter left, and if you guys want I can post an epilogue after that one too. Just let me know if that'd be something you would like to read.**

**Thanks again for all the favorites, follows, and review!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Big thanks to sarahmichellegellarfan1, Sloane Raine, .Oujo.1967, bookwormultimate, and ncsupnatfan for reviewing the last chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.**

* * *

**Song: Stealing Cinderella – Chuck Wicks**

* * *

_Chapter Ten_

* * *

December 25th, 2013

* * *

Stillwater, Montana.

A small town set on a big piece of land. Mostly home to trees, elk, and bison. The population of the town numbers out to around seven hundred people. All the homes spread out of long stretches of roads, most of which are in need of repair. There's the main part of town, which is where the plaza is located, different shops of all kinds set up around an open wood-board floored area to attract the tourists who wander over from Yellowstone National Park. Most everyone lives between ten to twenty minutes from there, although some families live even further.

It's simple to tell apart those who are residents to those who are just passing through. There isn't anything glaringly different about the residents of the town, per say, just an air about them. They're proud of their small town, and everybody knows everybody.

And everybody knows the story of Marah Bradshaw. The sweet little girl who ran off ten years ago and was never seen again. Though they had heard she was alright, no one really knew for sure.

Her family still lives in town, in the same house they always had. Leroy still ran the store, Abigail still keeping the records. Their two oldest children came home often enough to visit. They got together on holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries, but it never felt the same as it used to. There was always that empty chair at the table, the extra plate, the empty room.

This Christmas is no different. The Bradshaws gather together to celebrate another Christmas. Abigail casts glances to the last picture of her youngest daughter she ever took multiple times each day, but she does it more on Christmas than any other.

But the family still laughs and smiles. They have a merry Christmas, just like all the other families in town who are gathered together. The streets and shops are all empty, windows closed and doors locked for the holiday.

So Dean can drive as slow as he wants to through town. The Impala rolling down the main road as Marah stares out the window, snow falling lightly on the black car. "Look Dean!" She says excitedly, pointing at a building outside. The building sits quietly, the lights off, toys sitting on the shelves. The sign that hangs looking outside reads 'closed'. The bold white writing engraved in the window reads 'Bradshaw General'. "That's the store!" she looks to her husband with a smile on her face. Dean chuckles softly, nodding his head.

"I can read the sign, babe." He tells her, and she slaps his shoulder, pouting.

"Shut up!" she doesn't mean it, and her hand finds his, giving it a squeeze. He knows she's nervous. She's excited too, thrilled really. The trip here had been Dean's idea.

Marah had seemed more closed off in the past few weeks, and when Dean finally kept pushing her on telling him what was wrong, she told him it would be ten years in a few weeks since she last had Christmas with her family. Over ten years already since she'd last seen them, spoken to them even.

Marah had felt terrible telling Dean this of course, knowing he would internally blame himself. "I love you, I've loved every damn moment with you Dean. And I wouldn't do anything differently. It's just…" she had trailed off, begging him with her eyes to understand.

"They're your family." He had finished for her, and she had only been able to nod, her chin trembling as she held back the tears.

So he had surprised her. They'd celebrated Christmas with Sam last night, and then Dean had taken Marah and Carter and hit the road early that morning. And now here they were, back where it all started.

Dean had the Impala stopped in front of the diner. It didn't look as good as it did all those years ago when Dean first walked through those glass doors. Even through the snow, they could see the paint was chipping slightly, the sign looked worn down.

"I almost didn't go in." Dean tells her, and when Marah looks at him Dean is starring at the diner. "I was just walking through since my dad and Sam had gotten into a fight. Didn't plan on sitting down."

"What made you sit down?" she asks softly. Dean looks down at her now, his arm wrapping around her and he pulls her closer into his side.

"There was a pretty little girl in an apron wiping down tables. Any place where the waitresses wear actual aprons has to be good." She lets out a laugh, and Dean shrugs. "I just had a feeling." He tells her honestly, then leans down to give her a kiss. She smiles against his lips, Dean taking her bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before letting go and pressing his lips against hers harder.

"Daddy!" the little boy in the back car seat interrupts them, and they pull apart, Dean turning in his seat to look back at Carter.

The boy had started talking just a month ago, and already had a growing vocabulary. His first word had been 'daddy' and Dean had been over the moon about it. Marah hadn't cared that Carter didn't say 'mommy' first, as long as Carter was talking, she was happy. The little boy had said 'mommy' just a week later anyways, and a modified version of Sam soon followed. 'Sim' was what Carter usually said.

"What is it buddy?" Dean asks, raising his eyebrows at the boy, who pouts at his parents from his car seat. He points down, behind Dean's seat, a little frown on his face.

"Cappy." Carter whines, pointing again.

"You drop'em?" Marah asks her son, twisting around and reaching her hand back where Dean cannot reach. Sure enough, her fingers meet the teddy bear's soft fur, and she picks up the toy. "Hold on to him." She advises as she hands the bear back to their son, who smiles widely at her.

"Cappy!" he cheers, and Dean shakes his head, shoulders shaking slightly in silent laughter. He never understood how his son came up with the name for the bear. He had just started saying it over and over again two weeks ago.

Sam had been the one to figure out what he was asking for. The boy nodding his head and reaching out for the toy expectantly when his uncle had asked if that was what the little boy was asking for.

"You ready?" Dean asks Marah as he shifts the Impala back into drive, taking her hand tightly in his. He gives it a squeeze when she looks at him with wide eyes. "Don't be nervous." He tells her, seeing it plain as day written all over her face.

"Don't be nervous?" She repeats incredulously. "How can I _not _be nervous? I haven't seen them in ten years!"

"I came back from the dead and you greeted me quite warmly." She huffs at him, resting her head on his shoulder, her long dark hair falling between them. "But really," Dean continues, serious this time, "it'll be fine."

* * *

The house looked the same.

Same brick walkway, same porch, same white siding, same white shutters, same front door. The driveway was the same, though Marah did not recognize two of the cars in the driveway, she could see the old red Ford in the back.

She had learned to drive in that truck. Gone on road trips with her family. Sat squished between Derek and Jackie for hours on end.

Her parents had put up Christmas lights, though they weren't on yet. It was only just past three.

They were probably still cooking for dinner, Marah thought, unless they had changed the Christmas tradition in the past decade.

Dean's hand squeezing hers brings her attention to him, and he smiles at his wife. "You ready?" he asks again, and Marah nods, swallowing the building lump in her throat. "Well then, let's go." She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and leaning forward, kissing Dean on the lips quickly. He catches her kiss, making it last a little bit longer before he pulls away.

"Now I'm ready." He chuckles at her, and Marah turns, opening the door and stepping out of the Impala and onto the shoveled sidewalk. The cold air nips at her skin instantly, and she pulls the leather jacket closer to herself, hearing the driver side door close as Dean gets out and goes to get Carter.

Marah's feet move on their own accord as she stares at the house, boot-clad feet crunching on the snow. One step at a time, closer to the house, and she can hear Dean whispering – explaining – to their son what was happening in a simple way that the boy would understand.

Her footsteps are hollow as she makes her way up the front steps, and then she raises a hand, curling her fingers into a fist. She hesitates, seeing the scars on her knuckles, and knowing the others that cover her body. She sighs, and then knocks, her knuckles rapping against the wooden door a few times before she lets her hand fall to her side.

"Comin'!" Her father's deep voice can be heard through the door, and tears prick at Marah's eyes. She had forgotten what his voice sounded like. She can hear laughter as well, through the walls, and can still recognize Derek's deep laughter. "A Mer-"

Her father looks almost the same. Still tall as a tower, his face exactly as it was before. His once black head of hair is now completely gray all over, and he's growing a slight beard as well. His brown eyes are wide, mouth opening and closing as he stares down at Marah. He takes in a shaky breath, his hand falling from the doorknob. "M-Marah?" his voice is a whisper and his voice cracks as his eyebrows rise, a tear rolling down his cheek, getting lost in the stubble on his jaw.

Her lips purse together as she fights off the tears, nodding her head. "Hi, Daddy." She can't speak louder than a whisper, but he hears her and in the next moment she's engulfed in his strong arms. If she had never gotten a bear hug from Sam, she would've said it felt like she was being crushed alive. But she knows hugs can be harder, and she hugs her father back fiercely, breathing in the smell of pipes and the store.

"Marah, Marah, Marah." He repeats her name over and over again, not letting her go.

"Leroy? Who is it?" Marah's mother calls out, and her father pulls away from her, his hands staying on her shoulders as he replies, not looking away from his baby girl.

"Come see! Everyone!" He looks her over, and she doesn't look away from his face as he sees the scars on her face, the leather jacket and biker boots she wears. Concern flashes through his eyes, then curiosity and pain.

"My God!" Marah looks over to see her mother, her hair a little lighter, and her face sporting some more wrinkles, but mostly the same. "My baby!" Abigail cries out, surprising Marah, because she was always a quiet woman, and she's folded into her mother's arms. Marah wraps her arms around her own mother, a few tears slipping down her face.

"Hi Mom." Marah smiles, and her Mom pulls back, running her hands over the sides of Marah's face, over her forehead, her chin.

"What happened to you?" the older woman asks, her thumb tracing a scar across Marah's cheek, following in down her neck and stopping when it disappears under her shirt. Her mother feels the leather of her daughter's jacket.

"I'm fine." Marah tells her, getting her mother's attention back. She looks behind her mother to see her siblings standing there. She barely recognizes Jackie.

Her sister is taller, taller than Marah and her blonde hair is cut short. Marah wouldn't have thought Jackie could have gotten prettier, but she has.

Derek looks the same as well. A few more wrinkles on his face, his hair kept buzzed short. A smile takes up his whole face.

"Who are you?" Her father's question gets Marah's attention, and she turns around, her mother holding fast to Marah's hand, afraid to let go in fear her youngest daughter will disappear before her very eyes.

Dean stands in the middle of the walkway, looking up at the family now gathered on the front porch. He holds Carter's little hands in his own, the little boy's feet planted firmly on top of Dean's boots. It's his new favorite game, having Dean or Sam help him walk 'like a big boy does' by standing on top of their feet.

Dean has snow on his leather jacket and in his short-kept hair, the beige Henley he has on underneath wet at the top of the collar from the snowflakes. His son has the same innocent expression on his face that his father does. Carter's green eyes locked onto the new people who surround his mother.

Marah's hand slips out of her mother's as she walks towards her own family. "Dad," She begins, looking back at her father and smiling, "Mom, this is Dean." Marah picks up Carter off of Dean's feet, balancing the little boy on her hip as they walk forwards, Dean extending his hand towards Leroy. "My husband." The color drains from her parents' faces. "And this is our son, Carter." Their eyes widen, eyebrows rising.

"Pleased to meet you, sir." Dean says, taking a page from Sam's book in being polite. Leroy slowly grasps Dean's hand in his own, shaking it firmly.

* * *

An hour later, Dean sits in the Bradshaw's living room on the couch. Marah by his side, and Carter in his grandmother's lap.

Leroy sits in his usual chair, and Jackie sits next to her mother. From the other side of Leroy, Derek glares at Dean, trying to place why the man looks so familiar to him.

"How old is he?" Abigail asks, looking up from her grandson, who stares up at Jackie with wide emerald eyes.

"Ten months." Dean answers, "He'll be one February tenth."

"Where was he born?" she asks next and Dean smiles.

"Lawrence, Kansas. Same as me."

"And you were there." Leroy states, "When Carter was born." Dean looks down, and Marah's lips set into a thin line. Dean doesn't answer, and the silence seems heavy in the room.

"Dean was on a business trip, unfortunately." Marah lies, and Dean squeezes her hand in thanks. "His brother was there though."

"What kinda business you in?" Derek asks now, and Dean looks up to meet the younger boy's glare. Dean can't blame the younger man for his rough tone, he did take his sister away.

"Mechanic." Dean tells him, the lie slipping off his tongue easily. "Shop has me travel a lot to help out others with the antiques." Marah nods.

"Cappy!" Carter suddenly says, surprising everyone. "Where Cappy?" The little boy looks to his parents.

"Cappy's in the car." Marah tells her son.

"Da 'pala?" the little boy asks, and she nods.

"Yes, in the Impala."

"Want me to go get him bud?" Dean asks his son, and the little boy smiles.

"Cappy!" is his way of saying 'yes' and Dean pushes himself up off the couch, excusing himself from the room to go get the teddy bear from his beloved car.

"Is he good to you, Marah?" Leroy asks as soon as Dean's out of the room, and Marah looks at him, her eyes wide.

"What?!" she asks, not understanding how anyone could ever think badly of Dean.

"Is he good to you?"

"Of-" Marah can't even finish her sentence, "He's the best man in the world." She says instead. "I love him. More than anything."

"You'd die for him?" he asks her, and Marah nods. She already has died for him once, Cas brought her back.

"Absolutely."

The rest of the evening goes smoothly, the only moment of tension when Marah and Dean do not pray before dinner with the rest of Marah's family. Abigail had looked pointedly at her daughter, who just shook her head, keeping her hands in her lap instead of holding her sister's hand to pray.

Marah and Dean didn't pray anymore, not to God at least. They didn't want to waste their time trying to talk to someone who wasn't listening.

Dean talks cars and guns with Leroy over dinner, telling the older man which weapons he prefers, and talking endlessly about the Impala. Marah tells her family about all the places she has gone to. Maine, California, the Grand Canyon, Boston. As the day goes on, the Bradshaws open Christmas gifts, Dean running out to the Impala again and coming back with three gifts of his own.

One for Marah. One for Carter from his parents. And one for Carter from Santa.

"Open it." Dean whispers to Marah as he hands the small box to her, the eyes of her parents on them as Derek and Jackie opened their own gifts.

"_Dean_, we said-"

"Screw that," he cuts her off, "Open it." Marah rolls her eyes, but rips away the wrapping paper all the same. She tosses the paper to the floor, revealing a small box, and she lifts the lid slowly.

"_Dean_." She breathes out when she sees it. A flat gray stone hangs from the silver chain necklace, the chinks lacing through the hole in the stone and then hanging down again, where a flat pendant hangs off. "It's beautiful."

"Read it." He urges her, and she picks up the flat pendant, seeing the words now.

"_Satis nos semper_." Marah reads aloud, and then Dean's hand flips over the pendant, and Marah smiles "_Sortis oblitus_." She looks up at Dean, who grins.

"It's made of silver and iron, so…" he trails off, knowing he can't say what the metals would do aloud.

"I love it." She leans forward, kissing him on the lips. Dean is the one to pull away. "I love you."

"You know Latin?" Jackie asks her younger sister, having heard her read what the pendent says and watching Dean put the necklace around Marah's neck, his cool fingers sending chills down her spin.

"Yes," Marah tells her family, who are all listening, her mother holding back tears from seeing her youngest daughter with her husband. "I'm fluent." She turns to look at Dean, "I have something for you."

"You just said," he grins and she smirks.

"I knew you wouldn't listen." Dean scoffs, looking to Abigail.

"Has she always had trust issues, because she never believes me." The older woman laughs, shaking her head as Marah gets up. "Can he open this one?" Dean asks, still sitting on the floor and holding up the present from Santa they got for their son.

"Yes." Marah tells him, and Abigail holds up the camera, snapping a picture as Dean hands his son the gift.

"You gotta rip off the paper, that's the best part." He talks Carter through it, guiding his little hands to rip the wrapping paper. He gets the hang of it, and soon there's just the box. "See, buddy, we got you a box!" Dean says with fake enthusiasm. "Awesome! Right?" Carter picks up the box, shaking it up and down.

"Daddy!" He says, looking pointedly at the box, shaking it again to show there's something inside.

"Okay, so it's not empty. Come on, like this." Dean coaxes his son to put the box down on the floor, Marah rejoining them with a present in her hands, as Dean helps Carter open the top. "Woah, bud, what'cha got?"

Carter laughs, pulling out the navy blue blanket and clutching it close to his chest. A second later, he's putting the corner of it into his mouth. "No, no, no." Marah sighs, pulling the blanket out of his mouth. "You can't eat it." The boy pouts, but keeps it out of his mouth all the same. "Santa wouldn't like you getting drool all over it." Carter just clutches the blanket closer to himself, smiling.

* * *

Her parents managed to convince them to stay the night. It would be no big deal. There was the guest room; they could sleep in there. They had just gotten their little girl back, to find she was a fine young woman. Those were only a few reasons they gave.

They couldn't bear to let her go so soon. So Dean and Marah agreed to spend the night, calling Sam to tell him they'd be back the next day. He understood, saying he hoped it all went well.

Most of the household was asleep now. Jackie had gone back to her hotel she was staying at, Derek was asleep in the other guest room. Marah was asleep as well; curled up underneath the sheets, her right hand in the empty space that Dean had occupied minutes before.

But Carter had started crying, and Dean had volunteered to take care of him. He held his little boy in his arms in the living room now, slowly walking around the room, looking at each picture that lined the mantle and the walls. Dean had turned two of the lamps on when he came downstairs, just so he wouldn't trip over anything.

His eyes starred at a six-year-old Marah. Her dark hair up in a ponytail, flying up behind her as she ran across the front lawn. There was a sprinkler on in the background, and a Popsicle in Marah's hand. A younger Derek ran behind her.

Her face was full in the picture, still cute, though the baby fat had yet to disappear.

Another picture, and Marah was older in it. Fifteen, maybe? She was wearing a purple dress, her hair braided and pinned atop her head. She was smiling up at her father, who had a full head of black hair then, and was wearing a suit. She looked more like Dean's Marah, and he realized that in just two years after that photo, she would meet Dean for the first time.

In another photo, Marah stood with her siblings. She looked to be eighteen there. Dean recognized her easily; he had seen her like that with his own eyes. He recognized the oversized sweatshirt she wore as his own.

"Mommy." Comes the little voice from Dean's arms, and he looks down at Carter.

"Mommy's sleeping." Dean whispers. "Go to sleep buddy."

"Mmmm." The little boy whines, "Mommy."

"She's fine." Dean assures the boy. He squirms slightly in Dean's arms, so Dean starts to rub the little boy's back. Humming at first, and then letting the words come out as he rocks slightly back and forth. "Hey, Jude. Don't make it bad." Dean sings softly, his voice deep and rumbling as he continues looking at the pictures of Marah.

"Take a sad song, and make it better." She was riding a bike down the sidewalk, her father running alongside her to catch her if she fell over. "Remember to let her into your heart." She was bouncing on a bed with her sister, a pillow being thrown between the two of them. "And then you can start." The whole family together, minus their father, stood in front of a giant tree, a dog lying at their feet. "To make it better."

Dean keeps swaying his body back and forth, running his hand up and down Carter's back as he sings to his son. "Hey, Jude. Don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her." Dean feels a little hand clutch to his bare shoulder, Carter's head lolling slightly as he fights to stay awake in his father's arms. "The minute you let her under your skin."

He thought back to that night in the motel room. When he tried to say goodbye to her. The tears that ran down her face. "Then you begin to make it better. And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders."

Dean feels Carter's hand go limp, and he knows the little boy has fallen asleep in his arms. "For well you know that it's a fool, who plays it cool. By making his world a little colder." Dean hums melody, still swaying back and forth gently as he looks at the pictures.

The sound of footsteps make Dean look over a few moments later, and he sees Leroy standing in the doorway. The gray-haired man watching this stranger hold his grandson. Leroy sees the scars that cover Dean's torso, the satanic-looking tattoo on the man's chest.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Leroy asks softly, so he doesn't wake Carter. "All those years ago. On the phone." He clarifies.

"Yes, sir." Dean nods, and Leroy nods as well.

"I thought so. And I don't believe you, about you being a mechanic." Dean's eyebrows rise, and Leroy inclines his head towards Dean, "You've got too many scars on you." He tells him, "And you've got that look in your eyes. You and my daughter both do. You've seen horrible things."

"With all respect sir, you don't wanna know what I do."

"Damn right, I don't." Leroy and Dean are closer to each other now, and Leroy picks up a picture of Marah from when she was about eighteen. "My little girl ain't a little girl anymore. She's a woman, and the way she looks at you, son." Leroy shakes his head, "It's like you hung the stars in the sky just for her." Dean doesn't know what to say, and just as he figures he should say 'thank you' or something like that, Abigail appears at the bottom of the stairs.

"Something's wrong with Marah." She says in a panic, and Dean's handing his son over to Leroy a second later.

"Hold him." He says tersely, pushing Abigail aside and bounding up the stairs two at a time. Marah's scream echoes through the house as he reaches the top of the stairs.

Dean quickly makes his way into the guest room. Derek is trying to shake Marah awake as she lashes around, letting out another scream. "Stop! Get away from her!" Dean yells, shoving Derek back. The younger boy glares, fire in his eyes as he watches his baby sister tremble.

She's covered in sweat, her face drawn up in pain as Dean sits gently behind her. He winds his arms around her, getting elbowed in the stomach once, but he ignores the pain. Holding her close to his chest and running a hand over her head.

"Shhhhh." He soothes gently, vaguely aware of the family that watches them from the doorway. She screams again, and Dean brings her face into his chest. "Baby, wake up." He coaxes. "You gotta wake up." Her screaming stops, but she trembles in his arms, still sweating and breathing heavily. "It's over. You're safe, you're with me." She's not awake yet, he can tell, and Dean runs his hand over her hair again. "Wake up."

And she does, with a sharp intake of breath being the only tell. "Dean." She breathes, her grip on him only tightening a little bit.

"Right here."

Slowly her breathing evens out and Marah looks up. Her eyes widen when she sees her family there. Carter sits in her father's arms, the little boy now awake again, but silent. He knows to be quiet after one of his parents wake up screaming. He rubs his eyes with a tiny fist.

Marah's whole family stares at her and Dean with wide, scared eyes. "I'm sorry." Marah apologizes, and then buries her face in Dean's chest, embarrassed that her whole family is watching her suffer through the aftermath of the nightmare.

"Could we," Dean isn't sure how to ask them to leave, but he looks to Leroy, "He should be good to be put back in his crib." Leroy just nods, slowly walking forwards and putting the boy back on the soft blankets. He latches onto the blanket he was given earlier, and his grandfather backs away. "Goodnight." Dean's dismissing them, his arms still wrapped around Marah, holding the thirty year old to his chest as her shaking gets less drastic.

Her family slowly files out, and Dean turns his full attention to Marah. Abigail and Derek watch from the doorway as Dean lifts Marah's chin, whispering something to her that she nods to afterwards. He leans forwards, pressing a kiss to her forehead before whispering something else, and she laughs softly, her head tilting forwards so her forehead rests against Dean's.

"Let's go." Abigail whispers to her son, as she backs away, closing the door to the guest room silently.

* * *

The next day, the family stands out on the porch. Marah hugs her sister one last time, as Dean shakes hands with Leroy, Carter balanced on his father's hip.

"You take good care of my daughter and grandson." Leroy tells Dean in his gruff voice, narrowing his eyes at the young man.

"Yes, sir." Dean nods seriously.

"When will you be back?" Jackie asks her younger sibling. Marah's brow furrows at the question, and she glances over at Dean.

"I don't know." She says truthfully, but then smiles, "You better be married to Jack by then though, he sounds awesome." Marah teases, referring to the boyfriend her sister had gushed about at dinner.

"You'll have to come to the wedding if we do." Jackie half-jokes back, and Marah nods.

"Of course, I'll be there. Dean too, and Carter and Sam."

"We're inviting gigantor to something?" Dean asks sarcastically and Marah punches his free arm. "That hurt!" Laughter echoes off the porch, and then they are saying their final goodbyes.

Marah hugs her mother and father, who struggle to let go. Dean shakes Derek's hand; the man has softened up a bit to Dean after seeing him comfort his sister the night prior. Carter gives everyone a hug as well, a smile on the boy's face the whole time.

And then they all pile into the Impala, Dean strapping Carter into his car seat. Marah waves out the window as they pull away, watching her family shrink further and further away in the rearview mirror.

Dean's hand finds hers, squeezing it tightly. Brown eyes lift up to meet green for a split second. Marah's heart swells, and though she knows her life is hard, this life is what she needs.

A life saving others. A life in the Impala. A life with Dean Winchester by her side.

* * *

**That's all folks! I should have the epilogue up in a few days.**

**Thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed this story it means a lot to me! Hope you all liked this ending!**


	11. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, sadly.**

* * *

_Epilogue_

* * *

11 years later

* * *

Sometimes Dean wondered what the point of it all really was. It had been almost a year. Three hundred and forty-seven days to be exact, but hey, who was keeping track?

Dean sure was.

He didn't understand how three hundred and forty seven days could feel a hundred times longer than the seven thousand three hundred and something days they were together. Marah had come into Dean's life like a tsunami.

In the way that you notice the small things first, like the tide receding slowly. Just like he had when she agreed to go off and talk with him that first day. You notice the small things, recognizing that they might be signs on an impending disaster, but you ignore them. He had thought of how nice she was, how caring, and Dean had latched onto her. Though, once you really pay attention to the signs, you realize that you're in danger, but there's nothing you can do. He had tried to say goodbye, tried to let her go, but Dean couldn't do that. He thinks he had already loved her way back then. He just hadn't known it yet. Then she swept over him, washing away everything that was there, his previous thoughts on love and commitment. She was there when he got back from Hell. She went with him and Sam on hunts, she helped out, she never complained. Dean never thought he'd cheat on her. Not once. And she never left him.

Just like after the great wave, new life grew when it was over. Dean was happy, even in the darkest of times he knew she'd be there. Marah would help him, she would save him, stand by his side until the end.

But rebuilding always has its rough patches, and their relationship was no different. They got into fights and they had their disagreements. Dean and Marah had some big fights too. Screaming at the top of their lungs at each other, to the point where Sam would be clamping a pillow over his ears. Sometimes Dean would storm out of the motel room, slamming the door behind him, the sound echoing throughout the whole motel. Marah would either continue to be angry after he left, and rant to Sam, or she'd regret her words and start crying. Sam would comfort her then too, telling her she was right if he agreed, or trying to explain where his older brother was coming from. Dean always came back though, the longest he ever stayed away after a fight was four hours.

Dean didn't know what to compare her leaving too. An anaconda maybe?

That hunt a year ago in Wichita Falls. A simple exorcism gone completely to Hell.

_"Dean!" Marah screamed as she watched the dark haired demon crouched over her husband, a blade in her hand. The pistol was out in a flash, the bullet finding it's mark in the bitch's head._

_It was useless. Marah knew it would be, but it got the demon's attention away from Dean. "You little-" The demon didn't finish her sentence, stalking towards Marah for a few steps before thrusting her hand towards her, her palm open. _

_Being thrown through a brick wall was something Marah had never experienced before. Being electrocuted over and over again with a snap of someone's fingers was also new. _

_And so, so painful. _

There wasn't anything Castiel could do. His grace was there, keeping him alive, but subdued. He couldn't heal someone who was in Marah's condition. Cas could make her comfortable; stop some chills, reduce her fever, keep the nightmares at bay. But he couldn't do much else.

Dean had taken her home after only a week in the ICU. He had told the doctors he understood there wasn't much that could be done, but he knew his wife would rather die at home than in a damn hospital.

Two weeks at the Bunker in Lebanon, Kansas. Two weeks of Dean refusing to leave her side. Of Dean supporting her up when she vomited, of Dean coaxing water past trembling lips, and humming to her while stroking her hair to keep her calm.

He memorized the signs of when she was about to get sick, of when she was having a nightmare. He knew what she wanted before she even tried to ask for it.

Sam would come down to their room late at night sometimes, and look in to see his brother sitting by her bedside. Dean would be holding her hand in both of his, eyes trained over her still face. He'd tell her stories, sing to her, and tell her what he thought about the world. He'd never stop talking to her in a hushed whisper.

He said goodnight, he said good morning, he told her what he had for lunch. "So you don't have to bitch to me about not eating." He'd explain to her, as if to explain himself. As though he was still hoping she'd pull through.

Dean would plaster a smile on his face when she was awake. Glazed over eyes struggling to focus on anything in front of them. But once her mind caught up with where she was, she tried her hardest to stay awake.

_"Hey, baby, yeah it's me. It's Dean. Come on now, I wanna see those pretty eyes of yours, that's my girl. Stay awake for me, please stay awake for me." _

Though in the end, even though they all knew it was coming, none of the boys were prepared. Not even Castiel, who could sense each heartbeat in the Bunker at once. The angel could feel her heart getting weaker and weaker with each beat. He could feel her blood cells loosing the futile fight of trying to heal her. He should have been more prepared, but he wasn't.

It had been Castiel who told Dean when she had an hour left.

Dean had let Carter say goodbye to his mother. The little boy telling his mother how much he loved her one last time as tears rolled down his little cheeks. He had told her how much he would miss her singing, and how Daddy never sang along to the movies like she did. Carter told her how he'd miss her pancakes, how he'd miss her tucking him in at night. He told his mom how he'd miss those weekends when it would just be them and Daddy and they'd go somewhere. Just the three of them.

And then the little boy had climbed up onto the edge of the bed, putting his mouth right by her ear and whispering to his mom how he'd try and be strong for Daddy, because she had told Carter that sometimes even Daddy needs people to be strong for him.

Sam had taken the sobbing boy away then, leaving just Dean alone with her. As soon as the door closed, Dean couldn't fight the tears. They rolled freely down his cheeks. He held her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles as he told her how much he loved her.

_"I never really understood why you stayed. How you could put up with me, but I'm sure glad you do. You helped me, made me the happiest man in the world. You made Sammy happy too; you made us all a family Marah." _

Twenty minutes left of her life, and Dean managed to fit beside her on the bed. He lifted her up slightly, resting her head on his chest like she always had when they slept, and held her hand. His arm around her boney shoulders, he buried his face in her hair.

When Dean started to sing 'Hey, Jude' softly to her, she managed to weakly squeeze his hand. Dean had looked down at her, but her eyes were still closed, he had pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and kept singing.

She was gone before he finished the song. He knew. He could feel it in his soul.

Upstairs, tears made their way down Castiel's face, and the sight was enough to tell Sam she was gone.

_"She's gone Carter_." He had whispered to the boy in his lap, and then had let him cry into his shirt as tears rolled down Sam's face as well.

They all tried to ignore the sobs they could hear coming from downstairs.

Dean still cried some days. Given, they were few and far between now, but it still happened.

The hunting had gone down a lot for him as well. Dean just didn't feel like it, didn't get the same rush or excitement out of it as he used too. He tried, went out on a hunt with Sam a few months after she passed, but it was just different.

Every time he turned, he expected her to be there. Expected her to ask the follow up questions. Expected her to run up with a smile on her face, saying she'd figured out what they were dealing with.

But she never did. Because she wasn't there. She wasn't even waiting back at home, like she always was when just he and Sam went out. She was dead. She didn't exist anymore. And Dean felt so alone.

Dean didn't admit it out loud, but Sam had caught him a few times. Walked in on Dean calling her phone, just so he could listen to her voicemail. Just to hear her voice. Sam had confronted him about it too.

_"I don't think it's helping you, Dean." Sam told him, starring down at his older brother, who held the old flip phone in his hand._

_"I just gotta-"_

_"It's not healthy man." He interrupted, and Dean let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair._

_"This is the last time, dude, okay? I promise." _

It wasn't though, and Sam knew his brother still had the phone. He still kept it charged. He still looked at all the pictures almost every day.

Dean just didn't want to forget.

"Dad?" The sound of Carter's voice brings Dean back to the present. The twelve-year-old boy is used to seeing his father zone out sometimes. It doesn't happen as much as it used to, but he knows his father is thinking of his mother.

Even at twelve, Carter was almost up to Dean's shoulder. Blonde hair, slightly darker than Dean's, was a mop on the top of his head. Green eyes, still brilliant and mirroring his own, gazed at Dean from underneath the doorway.

"Hey, buddy." Dean grinned at his son. His reason for living. Carter was why he kept going, kept on pushing himself to not give up. He opens his arms, and Carter walks across the wooden library floor to hug his dad.

If it weren't for his son, Dean doesn't know what he'd do.

"When'd you get up?" Carter asks, looking up at Dean.

"Few hours ago, Sam called and needed some info. That wraith is proving to be nastier than he'd first thought." Carter just nodded. He knew about monsters and demons and angels.

It was hard to ignore when your father was turned into a demon and had the Mark of Cain.

"He'll be home in a few days though, right?" Carter asks, his arms still around Dean.

"Should be back by tomorrow night, if it all goes smoothly." Dean explains, running a hand over the boy's head gently, "You hungry?"

"You feel okay, Dad?" Carter asks, not answering Dean's question.

"Yeah," Dean looks confused, "Of course." He crouches down, his hands on Carter's shoulders so he's eye level with his son. "Why'd you ask?"

"You were just kinda out of it, when I walked in."

"Nah, I'm fine." Dean lies, plastering a grin on his face.

"I miss'er too Dad." Carter tells him, and Dean swallows the lump in his throat.

"I was that obvious, huh?" Dean chuckles slightly, and Carter just nods.

"It's okay to be sad still, shows how much you love her." If Dean read the words, he'd bet money that Marah had said them herself. But it's Carter who tells him this, because Dean's wife is dead, and their son inherited her knack for justifying everything in the world.

"Thanks," Dean says, and Carter gives his dad a soft smile.

"Uncle Cas says Mom's in heaven." Carter tells Dean, hopping up to sit on one of the long wooden tables.

"Yeah, she is." Dean grins.

"You think she's watching out for us, Dad?" Carter's voice is hopeful as he looks at his father. Dean's features soften as he thinks it over.

_"Why didn't you run?" Dean half shouted at Marah, his shoulders rising as he let out a breath. "I was a fucking demon, I almost killed you!"_

_"But you didn't." Marah pointed out calmly from her spot on the other side of the table. Dean's arm was out a moment later, the lamp flying off the table and shattering into thousands of tiny pieces on the floor. "Dean!" _

_"I almost killed you, Marah! You should've run! Gotten as far away from me as possible!"_

_"I'm not leaving you, Dean!" her voice was rising now. "You're good now, we're good now. And like it or not, it's not just Sam's job to look over you. It's mine too." _

"Yeah," Dean said with a sigh, a smile gracing his lips for the first time in days. "I bet she always is."


End file.
